By Anonymous
Could you call yourself a mare?
A stallion in the fields and pastures
that graze over
Girard and Broad
in the nightly kind of weather,
that can chip a nail, or hoof.
I was born without features,
I was begotten with the pride of man.
I broke out into my run,
and made my strides in three,
across the narrow lines that lie around
my heart.
Raised by women, treasure
told to grow man.
Mounted the gentle creature
and take on the brunt of brands
that you learn to .
The scar tissue made you less of a man,
but you had never seen that kind of land.
“So let your mane down, you golden steed.”
Step into womanhood?
No.
Even in comfort, always made other.
Man in britches,
Man in knee high boots.
Is Man weak? Feminine?
Fucks other men?
Stallion mounting stud.
You and I,
we never asked to be anything.
We keep our lot to ourselves.
In the eyes of Equus, you and I
aren’t anything we never asked to be.
I’ll spend my my time with the creatures,
the animals, the painted scenes.
I grow tired of the labels and show names,
I grow tired of being man amongst women,
woman amongst men.
Let me hold what is dear,
it isn’t bound to all your tongues and eyes.
Let me ride.