and light of foot, wondered
if gay meant the same to him
as it did to me, wondered
if man was in mind or body.
Because I wear my man,
strip down bare to my man.
In the mirror, there, I am.
For me, man has merely been
a matter of circumstance,
not a journey or discovery.
I rarely had to fight for it,
rarely want to fight against it,
never wanted to shed skin
to reveal somebody else.
I never questioned it until
he said, “Some men have vaginas.”
I understood it to be true
but it left me feeling nothing
more than a tool, who knew
nothing about being a man
outside his own body.
I feel like Goldilocks:
trying to find a group of people
the perfect fit for me.
A group that’s “just right.”
I didn’t feel black enough
for African Caribbean Society,
I didn’t feel Greek enough
for Hellenic Society,
I didn’t feel queer enough
