Even before I make it to my male gender
coiled up in your womb,
I pray you, mother,
to churn out,
from the ages of your sufferings,
from the ages of your deprived rights,
from the ages of your overlooked wisdom,
a molecule into my chromosome
that would not rob me of my maleness
but not stand me the shame and guilt of being a male
before the candlelight march and the placards denouncing my gender.
Let the chemical make me free of the disturbance
threatening your ilk.
Let me be and walk free
without making the gender of yours, on her lonely walk on a lonely night,
fearfully close her fingers on the pepper-spray can.
When I come into the world
let my gender be not a threat.
Only then, my mother, will you be truly proud to say,
“I’ve given birth to a son.”