I Am Not a Fairy Princess

by Denise Holdridge
 
I am a blender-mixture
of your inorganic ingredients
and expectations.
A pinch         of pink
[in leotard and tights]
is not a recognizable
compound.
I does not compute
the equation that
I am.
 
You tried to pull me
from a Sears & Roebuck catalog
where glossy girls
smiled in lacey collars,
their knees showing
in short dresses.
When that didn’t work
You betrayed me with JC Penney skirts
and blouse combos,
promising me a new
ball glove in return.
 
I am not stupid.
I am not your pig-tailed
little dress up doll.
I am not a girl, I think.
You must think.
 
I am not a boy.
Everyone labels me a Tomboy.
 
Whatever.
 
I admit I’m drawn more to wing-tip shoes
than high heels.
I would choose a tux over a
ball gown.
 
I am not a fairy Princess.
I am not a Prince.
 
What am I?
I refuse to be labeled
with a scientific term
for “I’m not what you expected.”
 
I did not ask for these
homo-somes—
you gave them to me.
 
This is my DNA,
the energy current
that has carried me
through lifetimes
of being male and female.
 
I think.