I am canvas cut in the shape of a woman.
What rainbow of truths I see people paint upon theirs.
Those colours, shapes, and techniques upon mine
Will always be upon canvas
Cut in the shape of a woman.
The doctor’s knife lies for me.
I never asked it to.
Yellow and purple the colour of bruises.
Scared weird child sitting in the waiting room.
Scars that have never been explained to them.
The adults are talking now. Without you.
Sit silent, read a book.
Surrounded by the misery of sick and suffering children.
Back to school the next day.
Sad and quiet.
I learn myself so late.
That each painting upon my canvas.
Is frustrated, distorted.
Royal and gold the colour of intersex pride.
I am not here to fix my story.
But write a better one.
I sit here with myself and tell each one.
You are loved. You are precious.
There’s a place for you here.
Ha! Tell you the truth, I hate doctors too.
You’re doing so well. I know it’s hard.
I am in awe of what you’ve survived.
Your fight helps me fight.
You inspire me so much.
Yeah, it’s tough. But you have us all here.
Your intersex family.
Right here. For you.
So who cares what’s on my canvas?