Thea Pueschel

TW: childhood gender dysphoria

DON’T CALL ME LADY

I stood in front of a wastepaper basket 
squeezing my pomba
An endeavor to transform
my dove into a penis
Caught red-lipped by my mother 
My cheeks red,
My age 4

I 
wanted 
to 
pee
like 
a
boy

Girl, I knew I looked
Girl, my mom saw me
Girl, three of four girls
Girl, my father’s son
Girl, right brain left identity
Girl, small better than boy small
Girl, be a lady

I stood in front of the mirror
hair cascading past shoulders
flea bites rising on a flat chest
I pressed my hands to flatten them
Fear of the mountains they would become 
My cheeks red,
My age 14

I 
wanted 
to 
be 
boy
pancake
flat

Girl, androgynous fear shackled
Girl, one day sweet again
Girl, not like other daughters
Girl, one of the guys
Girl, right voice left sound
Girl, just like aunt Carol
Girl, have manners

I sat on the blue bench seat
The white Ford Ranger shifted
a discount movie fresh in the mind
He sat with a hand at 10 and 2
my soul traffic mitigated my masculinity
My cheeks red,
My age 24

I 
wanted 
to 
be 
a
strong
woman

I attend a film fest in Austin 
raindrops as big as my thumb
a guest reviewer, feminist perspective
I am smaller than their expectations
My voice softer,
My cheeks red,
My age unknown

I 
wanted
to
transcend 
beyond
gender 
identity

Girl, voice feminine words masculine
Girl, thoughts masculine perceived masculina
Girl, a soft puzzle formed
Girl, fits like jeans too small
Girl, outside looking in
Girl, broken binary code
Girl, a lady one day

Where there are ones and zeros
I see the elbowroom between
the antimatter that holds the stars
The cis-broth has spilled 
My cheeks red,
My age present day

I 
never
want
to 
be
called
lady

Girl, does not quite fit
Girl, never a lady
Girl, rarely a girl
Girl, always a guy
Girl, born with working parts
Girl, looking but not being
Girl, chrysalis into pessoa