On the table I am never
a woman but never felt more like one.
Pretending to take my binder off, their
blinders on, I am a method –
I know boys will cross arms
below their rocky chests; shirts swooping
above heads, behind hair, then off and sprinting
toward the nearest object. A chair. A bed:
What is a woman if not a document
to edit? What is a woman
if not a charge depleting credit; power
Butler let me do this, please, let me lie
on the couch like a girl giving birth
to myself. Milk the fear out my chest while I peal
God grant me the understanding you are
that we are liars and i too
God grant me the to accept she like a bullet
to the face to spite my body. Grant me the courage
the woman is not.
Let me table this question of realness
let me be the subject, so sturdy &
deep, let me be the small relief between
Sarah Cavar is a student and writer of ambiguous gender. Their work has appeared in Breath & Shadow, Polyester Zine, Sinister Wisdom, SCAB Magazine, The Establishment, amberflora, and elsewhere. Find them at sarahcavar.wordpress.com, and find zines they've edited at https://issuu.com/whats_your_story.