shouts from the binary

sharp teeth,
jagged edges

these are what my nightmares look like

gray splashed along a wall
like blue paint of a child's brush
and scrapes of tiny hands 
along too-smooth floors

scrabbling at nothing
scraping at the ends of consciousness

my skin is too tight,
a vague approximation
like a ballgown on a monkey

blunt nails,
they are too short to claw for help

pebbles fall from my palm,
rough flesh, silken stone

i used to see the world in rainbow palettes
but these days i just see in 1930's TV shows

my hair curls around my neck,
a constricting gender binary,
a noose for the genderqueer

tools are the product of man,
but our legacy is destruction

meet my societal restrictions - 
biologically, i am female

and yet i never see an "other" category, 
so my gender identity is limited to 
neat little boxes of "man" or "woman"

i hear whisperings of change, 
light breezes in a stormtunnel, 
this is the wind, 
and it whips at your eyes.

The End

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