This Picture I Like



That’s who that is.

One of the identities I’d assumed.

To appease her desire for me to be her man.

To satisfy that insatiable need to outwardly express the limitless creativity bottled up on my insides.

I really like this picture.

Not because it’s Ray, but because it’s a captured image of how I love to be.

How I’d love to be.


 Free from the thoughts behind the stares.


Free from my fear of the words tailored for those glances.

I really like this picture.

I had titled it “Le Boyfriend”

Le Boyfriend, why? ‘Just call me Daddy.’

I really really like this picture.

It makes me feel cool. Like I’d fit in anywhere. It looks like a person that could garner much attention. An oxymoron to the invisibility cloak I clutched ever so tightly. My blankie.

Why do I like this picture so much?

It stands to testify to the bloodline of whisperers that I’d become my mother. It bears testimony to the ‘truth’ in all the lies. It calls me dyke.

That was never my intention.

I loved the beauty in my face and the New Yorkness of my outfit. I felt cool. The Kool Kid.

My attire bore witness to the Joseph in me. I had dreams of the future smartly clad in peculiarities that simply said, Me.

They put the button there so it must mean I’m allowed to use it. I missed the memo distributed on what gender buttons were. I wasn’t in school that day. I apologize for my ignorance.

I still like this picture.

So am I allowed to not return to Ray but keep the clothes? The clothes did me no harm. I’m just saying.

I hear Your spirits words and I see his directives. But fear. Fear went shopping without me and returned with bow ties and Oxford shoes. It bows and ties my legs to move in masculine strides and tells my curves to stay hidden.

That is such an oddity. She loved my womanhood. My high rises and my soathing tides. She loved the things that made me weak. The submissive. Woman.

Ray was just a muse. The extra seat in the back. That extra sports bra for after the match. An addition to a complete package.

I really like this picture.

It is me. Free. Not the ankle monitored chain linked electrically charged fence liberation. The limitless creative genius fearless me.

Blindly going by piercing eyes and standing tall, not cowering. I want to be me.

 I’ve never been me without sin before. I should try it.

I really like this picture as it has called me on my bluff. I’m not a blender inner. I’m a stander outter.

I am me.


Rae Sonson,

June 20, 2016,

21:17 p.m.


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