A poem about my gender identity Watch
The show must go on
She arrives on stage, and the drama unfolds,
Lies are told in the flicker of her eye,
She just smiles, like many other souls,
An abrupt pause, the audience wonders why.
She continues with stoic grace,
While her cheeks are flushed red,
The script is essential, for time, for place
Yet she threw it aside; and used her head.
Such a script would be far too long,
For her performance did never end,
While her impression on the world was strong
Her body soul was torn and would never mend.
The world was her stage; acting was a fine art
The finest for a disguise with the whitest smile,
Nobody could break the concrete wall to her heart
For she practised her art with flawless wile
The world disappeared through her obscuring tears,
Her cries were silent screams,
Her future plans, and hopes and fears,
Appeared only in sleep; the story of her dreams.
Who was she? Now she was beyond recognition,
She walked off the stage… but how cold and late…
Life change was her supposition,
But she died, the end of a fruitless wait
She was merely a character,
Part of our world’s cast,
She had reached her last chapter,
And the play was past.