Written on the evening of 22nd November. Written in my head halfway through the first poetry evening I've ever been to.
That day I'd spent hours in unhappy discussion with a local Minister who dismissed my identity and told me I couldn't be a Christian unless I wanted to repent of being who I am and what I am. He could not see any possibility that anyone could be transgender without living in great sin.
I am sad for that man. I am sad for his church. And I worry for people he may talk to, people who may be feeling less secure than I was. The consequences for them may be more severe than an attempt at a poem.
Being and Nothingness
I met a man today.
We met. We spoke.
He on my right. I on his left.
I spoke with him.
But he did not speak with me.
He told me I do not exist.
I could not exist, there is no way.
Yet I, the impossible woman, continued to speak.
Would you Adam and Eve it?
I could not
For Adam was male and Eve was not.
Or so they say.
And I, I broke the mould.
Eve in Adam's flesh.
I broke the rule
So could not be real.
Yet I, the impossible woman, continued to speak,
to feel, tangibly
to suffer and to cry
for the man who could not see me.