I don’t want to be a woman.
I want to be a girl.
I don’t want to grow up
(or grow out).
I want to be tall,
thin, strong and young.
I want long hair
in a thick braid.
I want a bow,
I want arrows
and a hunt.
I want a lion and the moonlight.
Or a torch in the dark night.
And the world to myself
and my wonder.
I don’t want a job.
I don’t want a family.
I don’t want to be
Some man’s employee
Or some child’s mother
Some woman’s protege
Or some man’s lover.
I don’t want definition
Or obligation
I want my impulse
My leisure and my strength.
I want a hard belly
And small breasts.
A pillar for a waist
I want narrow thighs
On strong legs.
And large eyes.
Tanned skin,
Strong hands,
And broad lungs.
Lithe arms
And hard ribs.
A corner in my jaw
That makes men wait to think
Before they reach to touch.
I want to run,
And to climb.
I want to swim and to lie
In the noontide sun.
I want hounds
And the laughter of my sisters
All around.
I want my own right
Without condition.
I want to own my own life.