Liberty Stolen

My body, this I be (My country tis of thee)

Peace, Joy, Affinity, (Sweet land of liberty)

Youth’s fountain springs (Of thee I sing)

Blood on my mother’s thighs (Land where my father’s died)

Gifts of our sister’s sighs (Land of the Pilgrim’s pride)

At every hearth reside (From every mountainside)

“Hestia, we sing!” (Let freedom ring!)

MX (EM ex) Mare Martell

I’m no longer going to title myself with Mrs. or Miss or Ms. I’m not even going to impose myself on my brothers at arms standing tall in the Mister world. I’m claiming Mx. I’m setting my feet firmly on the label.

It’s the most commonly used gender neutral moniker used; where the x represents a wildcard. It’s the key to a freedom that I’ve desired since thinking about my gender in the sixth grade and feeling like I needed to be a boy, but not understanding the rejection I felt from the one person I trusted to tell at that age.

I’m not a man caught in a woman’s body. I thought of that for quite a while as well. I have several people that I love dearly who are transitioning between the worlds. It awakened a questioning that I didn’t even realize was there. It made me consider whether I was just a human without gender or am I something that I’ve dreamed about? Am I a Dude? (In the Big Lebowski way, YES I am, because this Dude Abides!) Would I feel more like me or less like me if I were to present as a more neutral gender or more masculine? What would my husband think? Despite those very difficult questions and hours more, I realized I’m a woman that rarely thinks of being one or anything really. I’m human and that’s good enough for me.

I saw this:

Mx. Mare Martell

I had just had the conversation with my husband about me wanting to use Mr. instead of Mrs. or Ms. or Miss. I explained that I’d seen a Twitter meme where it pointed out that where a man’s title doesn’t change, the woman’s titles are only pointing to how they are related to the closes man in her life. I didn’t like the taste of that bitterness in my conscience which is where the entire thought process began.

May I give a special acknowledgement to Terran Gray who’s gentle support while I struggled to decide where I stand roiled around inside me. They never once made me feel as if I were weird or out of place any more than usual ( 🙂 ) Their kindness and compassion even when I was asking some pretty deep questions were nothing short of a blessed boone. I wish them nothing but the very best in any endeavor they choose. Someone that beautiful in this world is a rarity and I am grateful.

This is where I am in my life. No excuses. No guts. All the glory!

Sometimes Maybe

Sometimes I want to be a kite

Ripped and tugged by wind’s whim

Rising above spectators

Admired for my brightly colored dips

That write nonsensical whispers

Of promises made to a forever not witnessed

Sometimes I wish I were a bear

Raw with raking power paws

With heavy duty claws that help me eat

People I don’t like or those who disturb me.

Sometimes I wish I were a siren

One that rests on rocks singing sweetly

Lulling sailors to their doom upon my rocks

Jutting breasts and flirty hair calling to boys

“Beware! Beware!”

Sometimes I’m glad to be me

A chubby tubby funny woman with dimple cheeks

Cracking open frozen hearts, not of ice

But stuck in places not so nice

Places that don’t remember their worth

Burying their beings without much mirth.

Keep the Heart Fire burning

The moldy crust of forgiveness lay on your counter forgotten.

When I first baked it, brought it to your table, broke bread with you

We ate with greedy abandon. The suggestion of freedom beamed

like a hearth fire we’d built together, but you abandoned our haven

Though guilt didn’t lay a head on my pillow, nor did shame,

I wonder if you ever wonder about whatever we became

I built my oven with encouragement towards success

You kept blowing out the embers, dumping water on the heat

Leaving my bread unleavened, flat, and eventually, I also left.

I eat my dinner, more than bread, at the table of successful abundance

I hope, someday, you will understand what I gave to you

in that warmly baked, love filled loaf of doughy comfort food.

These Are My People: Linda Looney

Linda and Mare

A relationship between a mother and daughter

is far more complicated than it oughter

be, with wrecks and disasters no happily ever after

as one struggles to hold on, the other to be free.

But if you ask them, one on one how they feel,

you’ll hear nothing but the true theist spiel

of love and emotion, undying devotion

between mother and child, where nothing is mild

when familial blood runs rivers through reconciled

years washed pure in the hopeful heart referred

“Glad to be of help.” the moniker tenured

Pearls=Wisdom

Unrefined wisdom

Unrefined wisdom

Oh, how I longed for a string of pearls

I wished and hoped since I was a little girl

I dreamed someday they’d be boon to me

Yoked around my neck as an adulthood key

Offered with adoration from generational knee

For as a foolish child, I believed wisdom to be free.