S/he

The man in the dress
Frolicked fabulously and freely
She is not a man
She is an expression
A representation of the breaking of social norms
She reigns like a storm
Roars in her cheetah print skirt
Her suggestions are curt.
She throws shade like she’s been doing it the day she was born
Which was the day she realised its okay to be a girl
Even when your a boy
Even when you’re not “normal”
But who the fuck wants to be normal?
She, a lioness in a pride of straight edges
Bending gender like a wrinkled straw
Growling with the repressed power of a thousand years of civil rights fights
She is no shade of beige
She explodes a swirl of rebellious colours that cannot be defined
Has a small glass of wine,
On stage she embodies the voluptuousness of divas of funky times past

This is the present

When a man can stand on stage with a wig and be cheered for instead of scorn
We are lucky that we can be this way.
Some people aren’t so lucky
Though plucky some queers are still treated like filth
So we must take the power of being called perverts and violate all things comfortable and thrive
To pave a new path for us.
So that one day parents of the meek won’t shriek at the idea that their child is in love with someone of the same sex
That love is not defined with an M or an F but with passion
Regardless of who you are
But for most of us who belong in that zone still have our scars
Of bullying or fear and self loathing
Too many tears about who we are
Starved of treatment that most take for granted
And she’s had it.

She,
struts on stage with a witty banter that can seduce anyone
She’ll win at the end of the day

Because you can’t look away.
She is a he,
But isn’t it wonderful when it doesn’t really matter?

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