An Open Letter to my Parents
by Ella Truesdale
I was a child who lived in shades of rose
But my childhood has come to die.
My vision is colored lilac gold
Pink and blue are but of times gone by.
My brother always wanted a brother
And I long to tell him that he does.
Sometimes -- of course, just sometimes --
I shift like water to a new form because
I am flowing with ideas wrapped in skin.
Ideas have no genitals, no sex.
I am more than the split in my jeans
Don't I know more than anyone how I exist?
Mom, dad, your little girl isn't real.
Your daughter now bleeds into your son
Then into your child who is neither.
But in every self, it's still love for which I long.
You cannot understand this
But maybe because you do not try.
You cannot control this
I know this is a part of me, only mine.
Listen, listen, you can't tell me what I am.
I am wind and stardust and a thousand raging seas
I am the earth and all its painful gifts.
I am a person in a body that does not define me.
A person is too much for a mere ideal
Too easy to shatter a perception
That glass box you want to put me in
The mirror image is your imagination
And only on cracking it does my face show.
I'm sorry I'm not that child you want.
I'm not sorry I'm so, so much more.
Paint blurs into lilac from blush and cyan.