Poetry (Why/Because)

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Why

Why do I do this?

Why do I trim my nails
when I've got no one to touch
but myself?

Why do I persist in wearing
the elegant necklace,
one strand each (hand-made) of
rose quartz
amethyst
periwinkle blue aventurine,
when it continues
not
to garner the attention,
the recognition,
that I crave?

Why do I stuff my headphones full of
Ani,
Melissa,
Ember,
And the occasional cross-dressing, hetersexual AIDS activist,
So that,
when I sing along,
I'm singing an advertisement for an offer
I
can't make?

/////

Because

Because I'm tired of passing

Because I'm tired of the fact that my clothes
(those, lady-like, feminine things)
confirm everyone's hetersexist assumptions
No matter who I'm standing with.

(I could, I suppose, put my army boots back on,
trade the office-ready, sexy-librarian clothes for
men's shirts and
revolutionary do-rags

Or whatever it is The Girls are wearing these days
to get each others' attention

But then I wouldn't look like me)


Because I'm tired of being reduced to
merely
the ring on my finger, and the
man
on my arm.