What if they were to call me a traitor to my sex?

A short form essay because I am lazy like that

This may offend.

Be warned.

The young ones are seemingly crawling from the rocks.

It scares older folk.

This wave of mental illness.

This wave of queer.

This wave of trans.

What has been put in the water ?

They huddle in church basements, whispering.

What is this newness? How has the world become so perverted ?

And the young ones.

The young ones talk of their struggle, which surely is their tale.

Who am I to suck the marrow from a story that is not mine?

But all this newness.

All this anxiety, ADHD, autism.

All this depression and angst.

What about the poor men,

The stuffed men

Leaning together

Headpiece filled with straw?

And the young ones look back and wonder

Who are those strangers?

And the old, pull back a curtain,

And bemoan,

Who are those strangers ?

Yet if you look,

Walk the galleries,

In the rooms,

Listening as the women come and go

Talking of Michelangelo,

If you look past the gossip at the painting

Do you not see the rocks

That hide the secrets

That are now crowed three times ?

These waves have rippled

Throughout time

Reaching back to that singular rock that

Splashed the pond

With the accompanying whisper

Let there be light.

And so I stumble,

As much as one can stumble in the ether,

I stumble upon a song

And think to myself

Oh the lovely folk I know

There within the stack

They would surely appreciate this.

And I stop and think,

I ponder,

What would those others say

If they thought I thought this way ?

And what if I were young?

What path would be before me,

Which route might I chose

When each has light lit upon it,

And not all but one,

Darkened as when I was young?

And like my religiousness of agnosticism

My inability to choose

My living on a knife’s edge

Would I settle upon being they and them?

Living in the in-between?

And would it be more comfortable than being where I am ?

I wonder,

Sometimes.

When I listen to a song.

Or read some words.

Or fold my laundry.

So…

Here is the song that some might label me with

Being a traitor to my sex.

This is the song.

from Alamy.com which as far as I can gather is free, and regardless, if this image is from when I suspect it is, IP long ago expired.

As always, these are off the cuff rambles so if it loses cohesion,

dissolves at first glance, c’est la vie, eh.

And if you have any idea what I might be saying for goodness sake let me know. And if you are offended, please do not be. It was not meant as such. Although I am happy to hear in the ways I stumble.