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and light of foot, wondered

if gay meant the same to him

as it did to me, wondered

if man was in mind or body.

Because I wear my man,

strip down bare to my man.

In the mirror, there, I am.

For me, man has merely been

a matter of circumstance,

not a journey or discovery.

I rarely had to fight for it,

rarely want to fight against it,

never wanted to shed skin

to reveal somebody else.

I never questioned it until

he said, “Some men have vaginas.”

I understood it to be true

but it left me feeling nothing

more than a tool, who knew

nothing about being a man

outside his own body.

I feel like Goldilocks:

trying to find a group of people

the perfect fit for me.

A group that’s “just right.”

I didn’t feel black enough

for African Caribbean Society,

I didn’t feel Greek enough

for Hellenic Society,

I didn’t feel queer enough