All Of Us

I am the black man

And I love my skin

And the life within the body.

And yet I am the white man,

Pale as the purity of snow.

And still I am Asian.

And so too am I mixed,

With all the races blood

In lattices twisted up in the

Ages DNA, conjuring diversity,

Bringing beauty and ugliness

Time and time again.

But I too am a woman

For there is joy in that form,

As there is joy within the masculine.

And the body of a child is mine.

And sometimes I am sexless,

Indefinably between

The boarders of mapmakers

And nationality.

And I am every class and cast

There ever was.

All this I have in me.

And as I am,

So too is other,

Not one

With jurisdiction

Over emotion, attribute or worth.

Not one less than

And not one more than.

All of us

Looking upon the world

From the same different place,

Infinitely capable

And with equal potential

To be all things.

Am I A Woman Or A Man?

The masculine polarity is lorded

In my mind.

The feminine principle is subjugated.

Am I a man or a woman?

I deem certain characteristics

As female attributes. Certain others,

I assign to the realms of the male.

Am I a woman or a man?

I raise my children

To view the world as I do,

They believe nearly all I taught.

Are they male or female?

My thoughts are riddled with bias

And unconscious design,

A rigorous conditioning.

Am I female or male?

I am a part of society,

Constructing the ‘how is’

In my action and inaction.

Am I masculine or feminine?

Am I a woman or a man,

A man or a woman,

A female or a male,

A male or female?

Am I jointly responsible?

Am I equally responsible?

Am I free of constraint

Or bonded to the ideas I believe?

Journey

Where is the boy lost
In the journey to the man?
Where is the balance point
In which he slips in metamorphosis
Through youth toward old age,
In transit of time’s
Morphing body become?

Perhaps he is not lost
But changed in skin
And greying hair
And stiffness in the bones,
The boy alive
But draped in memory’s
Encrustations
That sway the free thoughts
Of boyish dreams
From all their boyish freedoms.

© Ben Truesdale and distilledvoice, 2016