My body’s my own,
it belongs to no other.
I’ll decide how I’m known:
sister or brother.
When you get to know me better,
you’ll find it’s not that hard.
I’m more than a letter
on a laminated card.
I’m more than my hair,
my figure, or clothes.
And it may not sound fair,
but I chose what I chose.
So when we meet, please be kind;
respect what’s in my heart and my mind.
Love is complex –
it’s rarely simple;
it’s more than a reflex
to a flattering dimple.
It’s not a science,
no matter what they say.
When they’d predict compliance,
their subjects gainsay.
It is a feeling,
but that word falls short
of how love leaves you reeling
from its fierce retorts.
Perhaps love is a force:
unstoppable, immovable, and without remorse.
Searching the sky,
looking for clues,
and wondering why
no one answers you.
You scream and you shout,
but the clouds just don’t care;
they flutter about,
and give bored gray stares.
So you turn away,
and retreat inside,
perhaps to pray,
or perhaps to hide.
But your problems don’t wait at the door –
they follow you in to trouble you more.
I hate the color of your skin,
and the contours of your face.
My God calls them a sin,
and my pride, a disgrace.
You murdered my brother;
you’ll reap the whirlwinds.
I’ll take away your father,
your family, and friends.
I’ll find those you hold dear,
and set them all ablaze,
and the last thing they will hear
is me laughing through the haze.
And finally, for my own mirth,
I’ll even salt the very earth.
In the heart of the night
when things seem most stark,
don’t give up the fight,
and face down the dark.
I know you feel weak,
like you’ve already lost,
but standing there meek
carries too great a cost.
Courage doesn’t stand
in the absence of fear;
it’s what you hold in your hand
when your terrors are near.
So stand at the ready, prepared for war
and give all your nightmares a proper what for.
The old king was a tyrant
who played the game of war
and those who weren’t compliant
he would show what for.
The queen played games as well
not war, but of the heart
which, at a glance, seemed less fell
but were plagued by false starts.
The jester played the crowd
with pomp and pageantry
and told his stories proud and loud
with playful pandemony.
But when the lights went out, instead
the jester played games in the royal bed.
A (wise) man of two faces 