Writing from gender. 10/10/16

I didn’t know

I was writing from gender.

It feels reductionistic

to be rendered that way,

worse than fashion police

for public consumption.

It is as if my accent

is more important

than what is said.

I put on lipstick

with my off hand

to appear to be vulnerable.

I am more confortable

holding a hammer

with the claw face down

even if it is a nailing task facing me.

I wish every one

had the curly hair

that they would like.

My favorite feature on another person

is their eyes.

My lead letters on written words

is swirly.

I don’t think I could

enter love so deeply

if I couldn’t smell.

If I have a choice,

I prefer the largest tires

that will fit on the car

that I am driving.

I don’t like tea in the afternoon

as much as I really like tea

when I do.

There are times, in mixed company,

when I prefer to be

as short a stature as possible.

And there are other times

when I would prefer

to be reading to myself

rather then having coffee with another.

I have a hot body by temperature

but prefer to live in warmer climates.

Details without splendor are boring.

Holidays are an excuse,

I want deeper reasons

for the day.

Camaraderie can be richly rewarding

in unexpected ways.

Between you and I,

I would rather free-think

than surmise . . .