Out of the Closet

What if we are all so closeted that we do not allow ourselves to know ourselves?

This may make you balk, but hear me out.

Who among us has not admired a physical attribute of the gender we haven’t habitually spent time in bed with?

Who can deny beauty?

What if we each stepped out from our usual hiding spots, the social roles we were groomed for without our consent?

What if we acted upon our misery and tried something radically different today?

I dreamt that a student of the romance languages asked me if a word was masculine or feminine.

I leaned toward them with a knowing smile and whispered, ‘It is a little known secret that everything is both masculine and feminine.’

Now you know.

In the Shower

In the shower I see

One leg shaved smooth, the other hairy

I finally appear as non-binary on the outside as I feel on the inside

Though I doubt that I will ever feel safe enough to tell anyone outloud

At least in the shower, I stand proud

This is all of me

Now

I used to run with the boys

I was determined to prove that I had the biggest balls, that I could withstand it all

Until I couldn’t stand how near death my own ego brought me

When men bought me

I thought I was clawing my way out of poverty

But no amount of money can undo the trauma I endured

All I can do is rewire my brain

Write my story to have a happy ending

Starting with a happy now

I outran the boys and became a rich man so that I didn’t have to marry a rich man

Now I am happily married to the man of my dreams

I don’t ruffle my feathers over the penis-size competition at work- the self-stroking of egos which is habitual amongst my male colleagues

Though I am attracted to women, I’ve never had a penis

I’m ok with that- at least I’ve never raped anyone, never left anyone stressed about what they couldn’t see- STIs and pregnancy

I am happy now, as happy as can be after one has endured the smattering of battering my childhood gave me

I continued the chain of abuse on myself into adulthood, not realizing my own role in the game, not seeing how I invited abusers into my life

I’m getting off this trauma-train; I jump off the caboose, let it ride away without me

Next to the tracks, nestled in the woods, I am happy now

Artist

I’m an artist without artistic talent

A visionary with no eye-hand coordination

Keeper of vibrant dreams, seen only by my third eye

I’m a wordsmith suffering from silencing anxiety

Collector of hand-me-down ideas

My vocal road rage surprises me

I’m a better driver when I’m alone

I’m a workaholic with a new year’s resolution

To not work next new year’s day, one long year away

I’m a night owl working day shifts

I’m a closet non-binary person missing her gay best friend

One killed himself, the other I dated

Relationships with friends are ill-fated

Not that I recommend dating strangers either

But at least you won’t lose a friend in the end

I’m a newly married polyamorist

I’m currently in the market for amethyst

I fear hurting others so much that I withhold truth

Thank you for letting me share these self-evident truths with you

Whatever your hopes are for the new year, I hope you receive them

Though things often don’t go the way we want them to

Know that you are enough just as you are, and many people are sharing the struggle alongside you

When feeling trapped and overwhelmed, open the door to liberation

Remember that you are not your thoughts

When in doubt, take a breath

Even while standing, sit and pause

Glam Glam Life

Up all night like electric light

I live that glam glam life

Listening to rhythm of beating hearts

Ordering a shots when the sky is dark

I’m on call, solving 99 problems 

Shout out to my night shift team

Working til the break of dawn

All night long

I’ve got a call room with a hospital bed

My patients on my mind, overflowin my head

I keep it tight like a tourniquet

Saving lives like I was born for this

In scrubs I still look glamorous

Pagers blowing up on my hips

I’m on demand like your favorite flicks

Nurses asking me can you handle this

Under my mask I blow them a kiss

I prescribe drugs for all manner of bugs

I’ll give you one puff, I’ll give you two

When you feel short of breath, I’m there for you

When your blood pressure is high,

and when it gets low,

I’ll be there for you sure as your pulse ox glows

Some people watch medical drama on TV

While I be living it glamorously

I used to party like a rockstar

Now I practice as a doctor

Soar

This body is my prison

Everybody has a body

Everybody is somebody’s son or daughter or both

Everybody is somebody

I’m tired of trying to be somebody and failing and flailing

When I could shed the skin I’m in

Crack open my ribcage and fly free

I’d let go of my eyes that once gazed into yours and kiss goodbye my lips that once kissed yours

I’d let go of my strength and my softness, my curves and my curls

I’d give up my form, vanities and imperfections

I’ve flirted with suicide my whole life

And spoken of it to no one except the one who pulled it off

I heard his rib cage crack open on the concrete below our college dorm

I understood

Afterward, we sad survivors put on a show- a tragedy!

But he just did what he wanted to

What many of us want to

Those who want to be free from their body know

The temptation to empty the lead from their pockets

And soar

Salt

My patient had hypovolemic hyponatremia

His serum sodium was low, and we all need salt in our blood to live

Overall, he was dehydrated- dry, though his blood pressure was high

I looked at his moist tongue, and didn’t see the storm clouds amassing in the sky

Until my attending physician came thundering down

Pummeling my eardrums with his voice so loud

Taking lightning strikes at my fledgeling ego

Making me feel scared, small and trapped

How dare I not approach this case the same way he would

How could I take a vast constellation of data points, and see a different image than him?

How dare I not know everything he wants me to know when he thinks I should know it.

The audacity of me!

I went into this job to help people, but who helps me when confronted with an abusive boss, the way I am all day every day?

I have grit, and that’s it.

How can I justify the harm I inflict on myself by trodding this path of not harming others? Am I not also a person worthy of non-harm?

I drag myself through another day of sheer exhaustion, violent levels of stress, junk food scavenging, flooding my veins with the same poison I encourage my patients to avoid.

I practice this art of self-abuse day after day, year after year.

I don’t have the time or personal space to cry, until many hours have passed by, and my work, imperfectly executed, is temporarily done.

Tomorrow, more work will come at a nauseating pace, in unpredictable swells and storms.

Tonight, I cling to the knot I’ve tied at the end of my rope.

At home, my partner speaks to me, but I do not hear him.

He softly reaches out to me, but I do not feel his touch.

He serves me dinner, though I do not feel hunger.

I try to breathe through my shell-shock, remind myself that I am safe, worthy, lovable.

As if concussed, I feel foggy, irritable, and want only to cry.

I close my bedroom door, and I finally let my tears fall, though I don’t know how they will ever stop.

I take stock of the things I am grateful for.

I have energy to release:

I visualize a cord of light between my attending physician and I, solar plexus to solar plexus, and I send his rageful, toxic energy back to him, riddled with his scathing judgement.

I send him back the shame he so generously tried to pile on me.

That is his energy, not mine.

I feel the sting of tears as they dry on my cheek- my personal Sahara.

For a minute there, I lost myself.

I feel raw, delicate.

I cried so much, I have lost volume and salt like my hypovolemic hyponatremic patient.

This time, I know the recommended remedy: fluid.

Keeping myself fluid, I bow in respect and gratitude to the teachers on my journey- those who still trick me into believing that I am lesser-than, who make me temporarily forget that I am a dreamer in this cosmic kaleidoscope.

I bow with respect and gratitude to water, and salt.

My Yoga Teacher

My yoga teacher said

May you live in the heart
May you light up the dark
May you live in the now
May you flow with the Tao
May you bless up
And never come down

My yoga teacher said,
‘Our generation is the smartest one yet, we have all the information we could ever need at our fingertips, yet we still aren’t enlightened- we can’t take 3 steps without melting down’.

True, however:

What I wanted to say to my yoga teacher after class, but didn’t due to my lingering shyness was that we are in the process of becoming enlightened, and yoga teachers are an important part of the sacred process of enlightening others, whether they realize it or not:

One by one, enlightened people share their light with others
As if passing a flame from candle to candle
The glow grows without end, multiplying infinitely.

Sharing our inner light with our fellow beings does not diminish our own glow, but builds a safety net in case our own flame is temporarily blown out- we have a friendly neighbor with a bright source to rekindle us again.

Because we have paid it forward, we have propagated a culture of generosity and abundance.

Let your light shine.

Yoga is a key part of my healing journey. It has changed my relationship with myself and with the world.

To my yoga teacher, I bow in deep gratitude for how they share their light with the world.

To all teachers everywhere across time and space; thank you, and namaste.

Non-Binary Dreams

One of the most potent dreams I have ever had
Was of looking deeply into their enchanting eyes
Accepting the invitation to open their thighs
Like they were my favorite book

I want to savor their scent
Hold their every word in my mouth
Tenderly turn their pages
Until I know them cover to cover
My non-binary lover

Bi-Curiouser and Curiouser

I feel bi-curiouser and curiouser
Is it because of my genes that my eyes follow the curves of ladies’ jeans?
Is it because I was molested by my mother that women intrigue me?
Or is it because I suffered so many violations by men when I was younger
That I became a commercial sex worker just to profit from my skills
And now have fear and rage toward Y chromosome carriers,
That I fantasize about women more and more?

Women are beautiful
Visualizing their bodies near me,
I erupt in earth-moving orgasms

I am more bi-curious every day

To the point that bi is no longer a question- is the answer to why being with a man never felt quite right and at night I dream of they and I, the invitation of their thighs

I want to read you cover to cover, my bi-curious lover

Their eyes are bluer than any other.

Our love is pure albeit undercover.

They are not she or he

They are we