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my gender is not static.
my gender evolves.
it mutates.
it branches in various directions all in a single moment.
it can hang from the tip of one branch for days, months,
then abruptly shift to the fork in the wood,
straddling multiple identities,
belonging to neither, and wholly embodying both,
simultaneously.
my gender can live at the intersection of
so many meanings,
you could spend three lifetimes
reading the outlines of the bark,
the layers of rings within,
the intricacies weathered down:
years of storms’ stories told beneath the accumulated rims,
and still, you’d only scratch the surface
of what it means to mean too many things to label.