There may be a difference to one such degree.
But she, and me, cannot be quite so diminishingly apart?
My soul is quite purely,
Not that of a man,
Nor is hers of a girls, we share sameness as planned.
My masculine cells, create masculine man, and I live as a he, as I should be?
But should I be thee?
Attached to my cells, or in liege with my soul
Dichotomy, grand. Slide into the hole.
Cells conspire to contradict,
For I am neither man, nor woman, nor nothing in fairness,
But a ramshackle mess of sinews and tissues,
That, and a splash of divine.
So, perhaps It should transpire, that the thoughts I inspire,
Should be broadened of being, and opened of mind.
For as genderless me, it would be a sham,
To be anything but,
And unmanly man.
(Photo – Eli Woodbine, Canada, 2016)