A watercolour painitng of two circles overlapping with an eye in the middle. The circles are made up of drips and patches of salt for texture. Behind it is a poem but you can't see all the words.
A close up of the eye in the centre.
A faded version of the piece can be behind the poem 'She' as in 'Ship':
We're taught from a young age to
wear our gender like a badge;
a loosely tied knot around our necks, an imprinted name tag stamped
to our foreheads, and we accept that.
'well... of course... I suppose... I guess...' because
XX, XY. that's what we are; a bunch of
cells, a pair of breasts, a dangling dick,
pre-determined, pre-wired, pre-meditated.
Then: Why, why do I feel so unprepared for it all?
pink/blue, blue/pink, surely together they make purple? but then
they say 'no in-between'. They say that you pick your coffin and
lie in it. the lining you choose, the silk padding, the direction of the wood grain,
the headstone adorned with a name you can pick, and you can pick it, so
surely, when we're bones we're allowed some freedom?
surely, when I'm dust I'll belong to no one but myself anymore?
Is it so much to ask to be more than the hole between my legs?
actress, countess, waitress, established to distinguish
arbitrary lists, tick boxes, option A
option B
a set of requirements I'm forced to live and
yet I... long for something else. to be
Someone else.
I am not 'she', as in stilettos, 'she' as in patient, delicate, demure, 'she'
as in girlfriend, wife, mother, 'she' as in multitasker, organised, 'she' as femininity
or 'femininity'? roles that
still define a sex so caught up in being right about everything.
No room for mess, no room for questioning, no room for... me...
'sex'. I hate the word. I don't care, I don't think about it, I'm not interested.
Reluctantly I have a body, but don't let that fool you into thinking I understand it.
I exist in a space that says I am a 'she' because of my 'sex', but offers no space
to be anything... Other.
I am 'she', as in 'ship'.
Sailing free on rocky waters, crashing waves, pulled into harbours to sleep,
tethered only by my own anchor.
I am 'she', but only through my choice. For it's not yours to make and
it never was.
'She' as in 'Ship' (an #abstract #watercolour painting & poem I made in 2021 after feeling Gender feelings lol)
#watercolourpainting #poem #poetry #genderart #nbart #transart #traditionalart #abstractart #freeversepoetry