nat raum

soliloquy for the gender spectrum

i.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman—
first of all, it’s partly a lie. but mostly
in the way that when you search
my body for gender, you’ll find none.
not a drop. there is no allegiance
in my bloodstream nor my brainstem
to a concept, to lilly pulitzer dresses
in every pattern at six, to painted
flowers on my ring fingernails, pistils
each a rhinestone. pink never sated
& neither did any shade of blue
or yellow or green. i wrap myself
in grey & call it agender, hold the femme.
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman.

ii.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
because i am still not sure what that means.

the only people to tell me what woman
was were men. eventually i’d heard

so many half-assed takes, i stood
in the center of a straight line between

man & woman & jumped off the tip.
my gender is trauma—i eroded

into woman at the hands of men.
so why would i choose either or both

or all when none is such an inviting
option? it’s at least easier than revealing

everything each time i have to justify why
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman.

iii.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
& yet i don’t want to come out every time
i meet someone. i am tired of explaining
that my name isn’t short for anything—
it just is. my family cites the current year
as their only piece of evidence for why

i can be the person i am, but sometimes
when i talk about gender with cis people,
i actively question what century it is.
sometimes when i read the news i fill
with dread. & sometimes i think about
coming out to a new room & my stomach

lurches like a car skids on wet grass. but still
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman.

iv.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman

v.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman until
i can feel the vibe—for example, if i can
present the highest of high
thoughts about gender, & i do mean
chemically, the kinds of thoughts
that make most people raise a brow.
things like how i don’t really think gender
is fake but i do believe you can be
born without it. i don’t know if i was, but i
think it’s possible. i will never
know if i was & that’s fine. i think
maybe not but then again, i am
secretive about it all—unless i know them,
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman.

vi.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
& not because women are not magical.

not because all the ones i’ve met & stuck
around have made me prouder than pie.

not to diss my mom & probably half
of my best friends for whom the gender thing

clicked a little more. i’m almost jealous,
really—were there no other words

for the void inside me, i would have
weathered womanhood for a while longer.

words are only words but that doesn’t mean
i’m not grateful there is something

to describe this feeling of luminance & why
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman.

vii.

i don’t want to tell people i am a woman
just because i still see that experience

as my own. no, when it comes to most
people, i don’t owe them a prayer

of an explanation. no matter how
patient i am, i will still soar too high

to be seen clearly to some, winged
blur split by sunlight in the ether.

i thought hearing she was my own
shortcoming until i remembered i am

as radiant as rainfall in skybeams.
i am not a god, but i’m something,

and you can’t convince me not to be.
i don’t want to tell people i am a woman.