Girls Are More Fun
At lunch,
we discuss a friend
who is pregnant with
her second child,
a baby girl.
We talk about
how excited
she must be
to have a daughter
since she already has
a baby boy.
Mom tells my sister and I
that she wanted one of each too.
I tease and say
she really just wanted me
but got stuck with
my sister first.
My mother says,
“I hate to tell you, (s*n),
but girls are more fun
(for a mother).”
I want to tell her that
I am a girl,
that I am more fun
than she will ever know
(but they won’t let me play).
I used to dream about
coming out as trans
to my family,
about their eventual acceptance,
about us growing closer
because I was brave enough
to share my truth.
As if we live in a
goddamn Hallmark movie.
I used to dream of my mother
taking me to shop
for dresses
like she did with my sister
my whole childhood.
I used to dream of being gifted
expensive purses and jewelry and makeup
and all the other things
i watched my sister and my niece receive
my entire life.
(And will now watch my great niece receive.)
My mother is right about one thing:
Girls ARE more fun.
I’m happiest when I am
in my feminine skin,
all dressed up with makeup on,
wearing a skirt or a dress
or at least a girly top,
looking and feeling beautiful.
(And not wearing black like my family does.)
Those who truly know me
say I glow
when I’m in my element.
They comment on my bright smile
and my joyful giggle
when I’m in girl mode.
My mother and sister know I am trans
but they don’t want to know.
I pretend to be male around them
for safety,
to keep the peace,
to not be disowned.
I have a joy and a light inside me
that they will never know.
They may not want to accept me
or embrace me
as daughter and sister.
In their way, they keep me out.
But also, they keep themselves out.
Because my life
and my happiness
are a wondrous party
and they have
disinvited themselves.
