Forgive us if we seem to you like men.
It is a shell, it’s only how we seem
For so long our real selves were just a dream
or shame and weakness, glimpsed then fled, again
Girlish, girlishness was danger, then
the mannish act was habit, or a scheme
to fool the world, and hide, till our extreme
desire overcame us, til the moment when
we could deny no more. That was the start.
I feared too much to claim my womanhood.
Old habits stick. I cannot simply be
If you expect a man, I play that part.
The gentle, peaceful self, half-understood
will flower in time. I know I will be free.