her? or... me?

for little bowie: seventh-grade musings on gender

i’m not perfect
i am an outside image
i am what the world wants
i am lying
i am not her

i never have been
see me for who i really am
i am too hidden

she walks into the room
you stare at her not at me
you praise
her you worship
her you need
her to be wonderful

no flaws
no scars
no wounds
no baggage

she is not real
all you care about is her
i am left in the dust
somehow, no one sees through the mask

i want to let her go
i let myself go instead
who will you love now?
will you pretend she is in me somewhere?
or move on to another fake?

you finally know who i am

i have flaws
i have scars
i have wounds
i have baggage

i hate pretending to be her!
when i opened myself up to you
you ignored me like i was nothing
you wonder how i tricked you

i was never her!
inside i have always been me!

she wasn’t real
she was fake
a top coat

she’s not alive
i won’t hide behind her anymore
i am better off than when i was her.

i was “alive” before
and now i am living
finally
as me

---

I found this poem while going through old papers and journals from my childhood. It wasn’t clear to me then, but it is clear to me now that little, seventh-grade Bo knew something. Knew that they didn’t fit in the gender they were assigned at birth. It is complicated, finding this poem. On one hand, I’m thrilled to know that I knew, even then. On the other, it makes me so sad that it took me almost 10 more years to figure it out and come out as transgender finally. Young Bowie was looking, searching, yearning for themself, and they just didn’t have the words yet.

It would be years before I even came across the very concept of being trans, and several more to understand that that’s what I am. I believe that I thought I was writing about the constraints that being a young Pentecostal Evangelical puts on young girls. Or about being bullied and pretending to be cool, put together, and fashionable, like the other girls in school. Or about masking my “weirdness” that was definitely undiagnosed autism/adhd. Sure, it’s probably about all of those things. However, looking back now, and knowing who I am, shows me that I had an understanding of myself that even I couldn’t name.

I’m thankful for this poem. I am thankful that I found it. I am thankful that I’m actually living as me, as Bowie.

Being Bowie isn’t easy. There are days when I wish I could pretend to be her again. It was easier living in a world that accepted my existence. Yet, I don’t think I would still be here if I had kept pretending. If I had masked myself into oblivion.

So this poem is for them. Little Bowie. And little trans kids everywhere.