NOW I WANT TO RISE OUT OF THIS BODY.

By : Molly Belfield

How do I explain that I feel like a girl but not like a woman?

And who does that make me, where am I put, when I do not feel part of any greater mass.

Gender, my oppressive instrument; I play you without knowing the notes,

hoping the sound will be on key with the millions of critics.

Every other word here contradicts the following.

Maybe that’s the point.

Every day I am born again and reinvent myself to express what I feel inside.

Strangled by labels dictating how I operate in this world.

I wish I was a Barbie doll, parts smoothed over, removing the necessity for questions;

But maybe I hope to be Ken, and this is where it gets tricky.

I want to feel like I belong, but there is no room for someone

who cannot see themselves in any doll they pick up.

Gender sits in the back of my throat like a pill refusing to succumb to my spit.

A social norm never understood, I lie through my teeth that I’ve digested it.

In a perfect world imaginary binds do not scare me into submission-

Willing me to prefer one color over the other.

I wait for the tide of “supposed to’s” to pass.

Femininity flows over me like a veil promising forevers it cannot keep.

Masculinity sits hard in my stomach, tensed muscles refusing to give me air.

The in-between is where I find peace.

READ MORE great poetry in this year’s edition of the MOORPARK REVIEW.