Poem: 1971

In a class today, we had a lecture by a professor who studies Latin American art, activism, and poetry.  At the end of the class, we had a writing activity.  The prompt was to write for four minutes of whatever came to mind on the topic of gender.   As I'd been taking notes, I wrote my bit on the margin of the paper.  As usual, my thoughts and writing went to a dark place.  Some of these topics I've covered before, but... that's where my mind went on a snowy April afternoon.

What follows is exactly what I wrote, word for word.  The only editing I did was to punctuate it.  

I decided to call it 1971.

Me in 1971.  Four years old.  Kindergarten photo

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I learned from an early 

age that my gender was

wrong – not because it didn’t match 

my body but because I

had to be a MAN at four

years old.  My father and 

brother were my first 

bullies: bashing, smashing

boys will be boys

stop crying-

men don’t cry.

I learned that

who I am and how I

felt was wrong-

punishable by

more beatings and bullying

and more hatred growing

uncontrollably until that

self- hatred was all that

was left inside the shell of

a freak who was born 

different.  My life

ended at four and now

I’m just waiting to 

die.  And they ask me

Why don’t you love yourself?