What I Am Not Is Not What I Am
A Rare Poem From a Never Poet
WHAT I AM NOT IS NOT WHAT I AM
I am not trash.
I am a woman.
I am here.
I am in my body.
I am alive.
They will never again take my truth from me.
They will never again inspire me to hide.
Not as long as I am here.
Not as long as I can rise.
I know my truth belongs to me.
I know I am alive.
COMMENTARY
I write a lot, but I never write poetry.
Well, I used to write a lot of poetry. I mean a lot.
But my ex from grad school laughed at the poetry I wrote for her.
I tried to share my deepest feelings for her and about her, and she gave me a pen. Or at least it felt like that scene from Say Anything used to feel before the whole movie became a lot more obviously creepy. Lloyd, you gotta know when to let it go, dude. Stalking is a crime.
Plus, like…she said no dude! There’s no way to walk back ignoring a woman’s right to say no.
But that song by Peter Gabriel was the right choice. I will give you that much.
Lately, I’ve made friends beyond people like the string of redheads I guess I couldn’t live without for most of my life.
TRANSGENDER SOAPBOX RECOMMENDS: Sieran Lane and an incredible narrative verse about the experience of being gay, trans, and aromantic
I’m grateful for these friends. They’ve helped me see that there is more beyond the obsessive need for MORE that drives predators as often as penguins when faced with a bitter arctic chill. In their moments of desperation, is there a difference?
My new friends aren’t even new. Like, I didn’t meet them yesterday. Some of them began showing up for me as much as twenty years ago. It’s just that I didn’t start showing up for them, too, until recently. Can I tell you how grateful I am that the people I cherished are still here for the friendships I dreamed we could one day have?
You know. If only I’d get healthy.
You never know when a friendship will last longer than a while. Things change, you know? So do people. It’s no one’s fault.
But when a friendship lasts for a while? I love it. There’s a time component to intimacy that you can’t bypass, no matter how the predators from my past continue to insist they hold the keys to unlocking such knowledge almost instantly.
My life now is slow. Calm. Quiet.
I’ll admit…sometimes it feels too quiet.
I let go of so many people to get here. Am I really ready for what will take their place?
A CONFESSION
I’ll confess, a few of these new friends include redheads. I can’t help that. But these people aren’t bad for me like the old ones were lol. And that makes all the difference.
One of them is a poet named Jenny Starr✨. She writes a lot of poetry. And more than that, it’s good.
That’s both an Elmore Leonard and William Goldman reference, depending if you’re reading Be Cool or Adventures from the Screen Trade (or was it Which Lie Did I Tell??).
THE LITTLE MERMAID IS TRANS (no really)
Jenny co-wrote a beautiful piece with me retelling The Little Mermaid…as transgender. Besides my memoir short about my experiences in Trans Conversion Therapy (“I Am Trash”), the article for “Wait…the Little Mermaid is Trans??” is my second-most-popular piece on Medium to date.
(at least until we co-write “Wait wait wait, Mary the Mother of You Know Who…Was Trans??”)
It took some time for Jenny to find the right words for her contributions to our retelling of the Little Mermaid. That’s okay. A person deserves as much time as they need. She let me know the seed had been planted. She’d come back when it was time.
And holy crap did she make it worth the wait. No, really, you have to read it. It’s as good as the Disney movie!!!
Just the same, I found Jenny planted a seed in me. It’s been years and years (and years) since I wrote a poem. I told you why at the start of the article. That’s also where you’ll find the poem if you want to read it again.
Now here we are.
I’ve got a string of free verses that I hope encapsulate what it feels like to finally let go of the chains holding me to my past.
I worried endlessly that if I ever admitted the truth, I would lose the people those chains were holding me to.
I worried that if I ever lost them, I would have nothing.
You ever heard someone tell you to face that anyway? Yeah, nothing can be awful. But it can also be better than what was there.
And in the end, it’s the only way to make room for what might finally feel like home.
Thank you for your poetry, Jenny. You inspire me ❤
AND NOW FOR…
Something Serious: Memoir Short: That One Time my Beard Saved my Life
THE END (DAMN GIRL, THAT’S DARK)
Hi, it’s Stephenie!
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