dicotomy

the trees are strange outside the window
in part because this window is not mine
the time i spend away
from home
sleeping still and tight
making a bed where chance finds me
should render stange things
near familiar
the light though leaves
that struggle to fly off
in wind so high they flutter
more like wings
extended straight from trees
that strain and bend

my mind has turned and twisted
one thought one topic haunting back to me
revealed at random
through conversations
thoughts and lines
of books of plays of strangers passing by

i will start
begin with most unnasuuming
so as not to shock
more a recapitulation
when examined so
these past weekends
ive traded myself in
personas swapped and time unravelled
returned to years thought past and shelved away
so simple of a costume change
and yet a second skin atop my own
that redefines me
so precarious i have discovered
my identity to be

my jeans and shirts
once uniform each day
have most times been passed over
favored not
instead my closet
full of skirts and dresses
has busy been
but then
weekends arrive
with necessity
kneeling down in dirt glass and brick
my choice of tights does not suffice
to make safe my skin

hammers weilded and plywood shifted
i am at home in this other skin
as much this creature
as the other
as much the skirt
as i am the pants
what is this
this mecurial nature i find in myself

two movies
granted tied by common theme
and chosen not by chance
but mood and temperment
each one the woman passing as the man
her body cloaked disguised and then ignored
in favor of her actions
making her to him

at times i think
that trapped i have become
amidst some play
a comedy most cruel
where shakespeare has his fun at my expense
but which disguise is truth?
which gender when expressed
is closer to my mind?

its then that i examine
look about
at expectations both of world
and family
types and casting that ive fallen to
my body built for work
tried tested and found true
to heave and haul
i only must apply myself and strength shall answer call
yet lacking curves the likes that venus hoards
i find i can embody womens forms
the clothes and trapping sit as well on me
or better
than on those who womanly looks are natural to

the costuming is what defines my role
each day
from one to next i swing
acts taken and reversed to suit the time
fulfilling what is looked for
or denying
of spite or anger
switching back
to that opposing side that none expect
a game it has become
how i present myself

is this a matter
problem maybe even
i should end?
spend time to try to fit myself
more tightly and consistantly in one
identity

its only on the outside
what presents
itself to all the world
deep down within
i know i am a woman
only that
my concept of this being
how defined
conflicts with narrow definitions
which pervade
the minds and hearts of others.

a woman should be this
and men are that
it needs revision
update or perhaps
a clean slate we could start from
looking at
what people want to be
not where they have wound up

a focus not all on appearance
but the acts the deeds
that men are oft defined
but women shocking do make deeds from still
a woman to be seen but not to move
tied tight and bound in history
near obscured
by all the stays corsets and high heels
by all the acts of men
by all their shy acceptance of their place.