I can look back at all of my life
And all the things I have so far done.
I can love them or I can cut them with knife,
Forgive them, or I can shoot them with gun.
Mistakes , just a few, at which I can laugh
Or shout, scream and bawl.
Learning from maybe, a number of half
We euphemistically, experience call.
I can mutter and moan
Or grumble and squeak
Give way to groan
Or full fit of pique.
Instead of all this negative voice
I look to the future
Look forward, rejoice
In my optimist nature.
No matter the life that was dealt as my hand,
I learned how the rules and the run of the cards
Could be used for the purpose to make me unmanned.
And once this had happened, this where it’s hard
Allowed me to be whom I should have been born,
Not close cropped boy, but tresses and curls
Dresses and ribbons, excitedly worn
Proclaiming the wearer a pretty young girl.
And now as an adult, I do have a choice
I am a real woman, I have found my voice
And use it to call for freedom for those
Who feel that they can’t adopt lifestyles or clothes
Normally worn by the opposite gender,
Because of society’s hidden agenda
To keep us the same as our brothers and sisters
Not changing the rules: I’m Miss now, not Mister.
Some of this nonsense, it does make me laugh
The truth, ha–they don’t know it by half,
When I go for a ride on my stable of bikes
That I’m really a naughty girl transvestite
Despite, having labia, vagina and breasts
It’s in men’s cycle clothing I’m secretly dressed
Nobody sees them, nobody cares
Nobody worries turning not hairs.
Now the purpose of this wavering rhyme -
Life is short, there isn’t much time,
Just do your thing, come hell or high water
Just make it look as if you should be or, oughta;
Stare in their eye and challenge their right
To determine just who you are, or you might.
Believe in yourself and accept what you must
And others will follow, accept you and trust,
Helping you climb up this greasiest pole
Whence at the top you may call yourself whole.
Angharad ap Gwilym. 27.12.08
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