It must be difficult to relate to someone always swept up
in an ocean of feelings – vast and deep and fluid –
when yours tend only to rotate between happy, annoyed
and drunk (another form of happiness).
The text of Woman is crowded with schizophrenic roles:
Woman as wide-hipped mother, lulling her child to sleep.
Woman as wide-eyed child, reaching for fire.
Woman swaying like a wildflower or growling like a beast.
Woman twisting the doorknob to Sin to see if it’s locked.
These roles are makeup I put on and wash off,
dresses I purchase and outgrow;
some are heavy and some are glamorous
and some have scratchy crinoline underlays
but it’s easier to contemplate my sexuality with layers
like armor against the audience of a full-length mirror
than bent over journal pages of skin with a hand mirror.
Every word and tear and motion is a costume change
and you never know which character you’re taking to bed,
but it doesn’t matter, if you like the actress.
This is not my philosophy of female sexuality; it's just something I've been thinking about.
Painting by Till Niermann
What "roles" do you feel you take on sometimes? This isn't necessarily a gender-related question.