How dare you ask me to bow.
You preach that I should not exist, yet here I stand.
You are born a woman, you say like I do not know this.
Like I do not recognize the hatred that boils in my gut and bile that rises in my throat when peering into that reflective glass.
A body of a woman, when I feel like everything but.
Where the disjunction between my mind and my body meet to condemn me to an eternity of gazing at a frame, a shell, of which I do not feel as though I belong.
When I long for a deeper voice and the tickle of beard hair you call me sick, delusional.
You claim me mentally ill, and seek to cure.
Not to aid my body to match the soul It carries.
No, to change my soul to match the shell I was given.
Is it not the soul that is the true expression of oneself?
Is it not the soul, even in your religion which shows me no kindness, that lives on even when the shell that holds it is finished?
You have failed to cure myself and so many others that share my disfunction.
And because thou cannot cure, thou oppress.
You ask me to bow to your self proclaimed righteousness because you simply have never felt the disjunction I have.
You claim that I push my agenda onto your children yet preach false history into the very same ears.
You cut me at my knees so I fall into a forced bow.
Be forewarned, a forced bow is never a complaisant one.
Nevertheless, I shall learn to stand again and look you in the eye once more.
And shall I never learn to stand, I will cut you at the knees so you may fall to my level.
And again, we shall look into each other's eyes at which point I will remind you that I still exist and always will.
Just wait until I stand again.
