This poem was written by Lynn Hickman. It was published in FORGE Volume 5, Issue 4. FORGE (For Ourselves: Reworking Gender Expression) was a FTM+ newsletter and social support group co-founded by Michael Munson. This was found on the Wayback Machine.Swagger
I swagger to survive.
Because in this man's world, I am not a woman.
Because in this man's world, I will not be a man.
And so I swagger because there is not name for me.
People call me
transman, bulldyke, he-she, two-spirited.
And I swagger because I am strong.
And there is not place for me in the world of one or another,
yes or no, black or white.
I am not.
Woman.
I am not.
Man.
I am both and neither.
And I have no name.
No face.
No sex.
No gender.
I do not wear the face, the hair, the clothes of a woman.
I do not wear the body of a man.
But I swagger,
Desperately, because I can not reach out to my kind in this place.
I have no companions here in this place of diversity.
And I feel so alone.
I do not have the privilege to have my pain understood by another with one
sigh,
One look.
I can not find another here.
I do not have the freedom of no gender.
I do not have the comfort to let down my guard.
It is too dangerous.
I do not have the safe feeling of one or another.
I can not choose.
I will not choose.
What is in my head is not what is in the mirror.
It is not what is in your eyes.
I can feel myself wanting to fall.
Fall into the safety that community affords.
And so I swagger.
Put on the mask of the day-to-day.
Searching the eyes of everyone.
Not feeling the understood.
Seeing hate, sometimes,
Confusion,
Disgust.
My kind were once mediums,
A voice between the gods and humans.
No longer
I swagger, then,
Waiting for the soft silence that understanding without words affords.
Waiting for the look in the eye of another who sees and needs not to speak
to walk with me.
My siblings.
Who will not choose. Who can not choose.
But who will walk beside me.
I swagger to survive.
Lynn Hickman © 2000
