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Monday, October 10, 2016

Writing from gender. 10/10/16

I didn’t know
I was writing from gender.
It feels reductionistic
to be rendered that way,
worse than fashion police
for public consumption.
It is as if my accent
is more important
than what is said.
I put on lipstick
with my off hand
to appear to be vulnerable.
I am more confortable
holding a hammer
with the claw face down
even if it is a nailing task facing me.
I wish every one
had the curly hair
that they would like.
My favorite feature on another person
is their eyes.
My lead letters on written words
is swirly.
I don’t think I could
enter love so deeply
if I couldn’t smell.
If I have a choice,
I prefer the largest tires
that will fit on the car
that I am driving.
I don’t like tea in the afternoon
as much as I really like tea
when I do.
There are times, in mixed company,
when I prefer to be
as short a stature as possible.
And there are other times
when I would prefer
to be reading to myself
rather then having coffee with another.
I have a hot body by temperature
but prefer to live in warmer climates.
Details without splendor are boring.
Holidays are an excuse,
I want deeper reasons
for the day.
Camaraderie can be richly rewarding
in unexpected ways.
Between you and I,
I would rather free-think
than surmise . . .

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