I. It's Not Quite A Poem; But Saturday Was The First Day My Family Saw Me In A Binder. This Includes

i. it's not quite a poem; but saturday was the first day my family saw me in a binder. this includes my extremely catholic deacon of a father. ii. the weird thing about binders is that they make me feel like more of a girl. a better, mirrored version of a girl. i joke with my friends - how the fuck am i gonna explain that to a republican. maybe it's like color theory, i guess (children's hospital notwithstanding). when i wear a dress, i am frequently, vividly - disco-ball spinning and glitter lights - a boy. a boy in a dress. i look in the mirror and i'm like - what the fuck is this?

iii. i had never actually planned to come out. for ten years i only told, like, 5 people; most of whom were my partners. i'm not, like, shy or embarrassed about it - it just wasn't something i felt like i needed to share, really. i kind of feel my gender like. a favorite sweater. you can't really control what your favorite sweater is going to be. it's just like, this is the sweater that's comfy and cozy and you get compliments on so you wear it a lot. half the time you don't even realize it is your favorite unless someone else is like - oh, you're wearing your favorite sweater today, i love that one on you. and that little starburst of gratitude you feel when people care enough to notice this tiny thing about you - like that, i guess. maybe.

iv. i was outed 2 years ago by someone i considered to be a friend. what's wild is that she and i are no longer talking because of something completely unrelated. when i asked her what the fuck she was thinking, she said: you'll see. it's better this way.

v. there are ways it's better. i'll give her that much. i was never, like, hiding it, and all pronouns are fine for me, so it's not like i changed a whole lot. but it was nice; the gentle way people supported me. my best friend asking if i'd feel better in a suit at her wedding, even though i know it would have thrown off the pictures. nick asking me if i want to come along on guy-night pub crawls. plus, like, being in a very beautiful community. it doesn't seem like a lot - but in my adulthood, i've really figured out that life is genuinely and truly about the small things. vi. my father was pretty mad about the gay thing, but lately he's been really really hoping my '"i'm 10% straight in case of emergency" joke is - you know, not a joke. i'm never going to tell him about my gender. sometimes my gender has his ghost in it. i put on the suit and the binder and i'm like that's a possum in a costume. my gender is crying in another room, she couldn't make it to this conversation. plus, she's currently a dude.

vii. at the same time. my mother didn't want to make me upset in case it was a sensitive topic so she asked my sister about it, who asked me. the other day my mom gently corrected my father; using they/them (for the first time!) just-casually, as if she had been practicing - "hang on, i want to hear what they were saying." this woman was raised by irish catholics who didn't allow elbows on the table; much less fruity little troublemakers. my mother went to the library and got herself a bunch of books to learn more about being genderfluid, even though i never asked her to. as the saying goes - those that want to, do.

viii. i don't think i'll ever, like, "look" nonbinary. i know, i know, i know. there's no way to look nonbinary, and we both know i've done the reading and gotten the fancy degree about this. but when i was like 25 someone was measuring me for a costume and said - holy shit you have the same measurements as marilyn monroe except like. dude you're shorter and your waist is smaller. girls are probably killing themselves to look like you. and here's the thing - i know it was meant as a compliment. i know that. but i really, really, really wish i hadn't heard that. because my body is - and probably always will be - extremely, horrifically. feminine.

ix. and at the same time. it's not a poem, but on saturday my family saw me in a binder for the first time, and they were smiling. my sister cocked her head to the side. "it's good, actually. it's not that you look different. it's just like. a better view." she bit off a part of her fry before pointing the rest at me. "i don't know how to describe this, but ... you look more like you."