Before social media popularized the sexual array,
Water molecules could both give and take without
Bothering to worry over gender-specified quotas
For tab and slots.

Today, acid or base, dominant or passive, people
Tend to flob if not directed in building molecules.
They insist their roles get cookie-cuttered, that no
Uncertainties remain.

Yet not all desiderata can be specified. Sometimes,
We can’t imagine, from bez to toes, other means of
Existing. We’re told behaviors, looks, predilections
Must rubric us.

I’m a lass. I like lads. Still, that’s no reason for me
To forego education, opinion, presence, to disdain
The parts betwixt my thighs. No “nonconformity”
Legitimizes me or my culturally amphoteric nature.

Paparazzi don’t care about heterosexual love, won’t
Advance stories of able women who profess, publish
Books, elsewise make remarks that are bothersome,
Even “provocative.”

Everything’s flags and parades while many of us,
Long past #MeToo, suffer conventionality’s grip,
Keep being told that “nice girls” can’t have brains
Or courage to confront.

It’s doubtful, hence, that my great-grandchildren
Will celebrate individuals not otherwise painted
In prescribed rainbows (how will those youngins
Validate themselves?)