JAMIE SUE AUSTIN

like the gangly arms
of teenaged boys
would be grown out
thick and straight
a line to walk down,
a path already picked,
but my voice is round
and my breasts low,
the awkwardness
always the same…

and in new ways I
think “how can I endure
the irritation that
is the act of loving others?”
to cause no harm,
but to be set free
to chrysalize
and emerge winged,
to triumph self
 discovery

and find that, just like
before and always,
the dance between self
and family, 
is so entangled
that palm to palm
we struggle
to keep the
intricate steps
leaving no room
for the graceless—
or the self
serving
artist.