I crawled out of my mother’s skin,
Already dancing in disappointment,
And my father’s week-old gin.
Never to learn or build or choose,
If this just born body can’t unpin,
Opening the hidden soul,
Which I could slip within.
They wrapped stitches between my thighs,
a ring around my finger,
And another child to baptize.
Not that I could walk to church,
When my blood spells lies.
Or that’s what the cross says
When I speak of my freedom’s own demise.
We marched across our unwritten letters,
And blood-hiding sweaters.
Danced for the choices we make,
Red washed leathers,
And a better sown world,
Crafted in newly broken tethers.