November O' Five,
As the clock struck Twelve,
The Doctor announced to my parents,
"Congratulations, it's a boy!" he said,
And he handed me into my mother's arms.
Fifteen years later, as I get ready for school,
I hear my mother's call,
"You'll be late Michael!" she says,
As I go through my options again,
Baby Pink or Dark Purple,
And I choose the latter,
Whilst I adjust my bra strap,
"Some choices are meant to be kept a secret," I whisper to myself,
And consider to stall the inevitable.
"Game night tonight Mike?" my father asks,
As we descend down the stairs,
No thanks Dad, Mean Girls is on tonight.
And I scoff, only to stumble into a pool of thoughts,
The dread of going to school again,
Those jocks would pick on me,
"Michael? More like Michelle!" they'd laugh,
In their changing room, an alien territory,
And I would wrap the towel over my chest in shame,
Only to feel violated in gym class.
The girls, no less empathetic,
Would sneer at my tread,
"Why Michael? Aren't you a man?"
They'd cry in sinister glee,
They will never understand that I'm one of them,
And so I wonder if I should just skip school.
I snap out of my contemplation,
And sit next to my sister for breakfast,
Who smiles a reassuring smile,
"They don't know yet," she whispers carelessly,
"Give them the right to choose,
If they wish to stand by your choice or not,
My dearest Linda!"