Monday, May 31, 2010


I sat on the steps as the girls skipped rope.

I looked at their glittering eyes.

Their white teeth flashing.

I can notice a missing teeth in some of them.

I can see their pointed nipples as they jump about.

I secretly touch mine but there is nothing more than a scar.

Their smooth faces shining in the morning sun as sweat creped besides their temples.

Their soft feet padded the dusty floor as the rope swirled under their skirts.

Their little dresses and skirts swirled around as they exchanged turns.

Shrieking excitedly like they do at school during break time.

Their hands flapping in the air excitedly.

I watched the various colours of their attire.

Soft and loose dresses: with floral patterns in all colours.

They held the frills of their skirts with one hand.

I wished I could skip with them.

But I couldn’t because I was George and not Georgina.

They held their skirts so that I could not see their panties.

Because they knew I was a boy.

But I was fascinated by their play.

Wishing they could invite me.

But skipping was meant for girls and not boys.

Deep inside me I wanted to skip and play with the girls.

That is what I loved, what I craved for.

When they tripped and fell over they hit their heads on the ground while they firmly held their skirts.

I wish they didn’t do that.

I wish they knew I loved the panties, the colours and the shapes.

I wish they knew I was I loved their dresses and their skirts.

But they couldn’t because I was George not Georgina.

While dear mother did shopping for me, I became very moody.

Mother didn’t know why I was always annoyed on the shopping day.

She loved to shop with me and for me.

Just like all mothers did for their sons.

But I hated the shopping day.

Tears welled up in my eyes.

A lump would choke my throat as we passed the girls section.

Mother would be so distraught.

Because she didn’t know what I really wanted.

All my heart wanted was for mother to allow me to choose.

The dress from the girls section, because that what my heart desired.

But she wouldn’t know because I was George not Georgina.

I crept into my mothers’ closet.

So many dresses that I dreamt about for myself.

The colours, the patterns, the texture of each.

I ran my fingers through them.

I slowly drew them close to my nostrils.

I smelled them. I closed my eyes as I held my breath.

I touched my mothers’ bra and her knickers.

I removed my shorts and wore the pink pair.

Way too big for me, but I wished they could fit.

That’s what I felt like wearing, because that’s what my heart craved for.

The closet had a distinct smell, various mix of lotions and sprays.

I breathed deeply and exhaled graciously as my heart lit up.

I wish I had such a closet, but I can’t because I am George not Georgina.

School made me to loose a lot of time.

Worrying about my confidence and my life.

The direction my energies would be harnessed.

I was last at the urinal because I felt I didn’t belong.

I watched as the girls dashed to their cloakrooms,

Clearly marked ‘girls’.

My heart told me that is where I belong.

I marveled on the pleats on the girls skirts and hated my shorts.

I applied my lotion secretly all over my body while the boys didn’t use any.

I had a bottle of perfume stolen from mothers’ collection.

I applied it under the beddings at night.

I didn’t want the boys to know.

They would have laughed at me and teased me.

They would not accept me, because I was George not Georgina.

My first love was a boy.

Marvin was graceful and beautiful.

He read romantic books and everybody wanted to like him and be with him.

I loved his lips and his hips.

His gait and his poise. And his body.

Just a touch of mascara and a dash of lip gross and he was a King.

His chest was puffed and his voice was deep.

I started to talk to him, raise my fingers like Matilda and swipe imaginary hair off my face.

My mannerism changed and started to chase my dream.

My dream to be beautiful and loved.

To be admired and to attract attention just like Matilda.

But I couldn’t wear her clothes yet or be her, because I was George not Georgina.

I finally discovered my full potential.

I feel like Matilda, my heart is now truly Georgina.

My body and poise is all glowing and I don it whichever way I want.

The Georgina I was never allowed to be.

When my mates broke their voices my voice remained as soft as a girl.

When homeboys grew their facial hairs,

The moustaches and their beards, my face remained as smooth as a baby’s butt.

I can finally feel my butt sway like Matilda’s.

I feel good about myself and who I finally have become.

You can label me names.

GAY, QUEER, FAG whatever.

You can hate me; you can be phobic about me and my friends.

But you can never stop me because I have become.

I have accepted myself and what my souls say I am.

Finally I am, I will be and I will die Georgina.

© john-Kiarie 2010.


  1. John this is a lovely piece. As i read i can feel the emotion.Beautiful piece.

  2. .....i tried to be a gay man who has always felt like a girl since he was young....notice the last part that is dramatically telling about his genetic make up....never broke his voice and never grew facial hair....that to me is a basis for staying away from being preachy and judgemental...the brother is in the image of his maker......