In response to The Daily Post’s writing prompt: “New Skin.”

Another year as me,
three decades in the making, soft and subtle
loud and luxurious

or not.

Instead a year as a penguin,
perpetually blended, one of the same
spilling putrid fishmeat to my offspring
and mating for life.

Instead a year as a man,
working to express myself
in ways I’d only longed for,
cavorting between conforming and stereotype
finding pastime in the pleasures
of y-chromosome
with enhanced paralysis upon discovering
the rules are not all that different.

Instead a year in a different decade,
drawling on the dance floor in the old saloons,
kicking up my boots and the skulls of my enemies

or breaking the laws of society
tearing my corset in half
and pouring the brocade over the battlements

announcing my presence
with a yell
a whoop
a caterwaul

a resonant riptide of realization

I will always want to be


Talk at me while I eat

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