It is easier for people to think I wanted
a dick swinging between my legs.
It makes more sense that way instead of the
facial hair that came at the same time
the periods did. I taught myself
what most men teach their pre-
pubescent sons—how to shave against
the grain. I spare most the memory of
the doctor who insisted that carrying the weight
of myself times myself would surely kill me.
The boy cousin I grew up with settled on girls
big & black like me for a hot meal & shelter—
somewhere to lay his head when no
one else would be bothered. & I guess
that’s the crux of love— how to love
the oddity of yourself into shelter when
no one else will be bothered. Somehow
people believe I chose this body—
this chaotic chemistry.
They are only half right.
I bet she wish she was a nigga
Is a relic of what the world
does to what it cannot explain.
& what exactly is a nigga or a woman anyway
if not something or someone that has survived?