Stare into the crystal ball of speculation
Calculate, derive, hypothesize.
Now that your tallying is complete, is your spirit any more satisfied?

The sterility of fact is leaving me spiritually hypothermic.
I cannot classify me. My own place in the greater whole
still mystifies me, but nothing I leared about myself could now suprise me...
And no solution exists on any couch or in any hypodermic.

My brain has racked over the facts. I can't relax.
I've pushed my synapses way over the red line.
I've broken free of my mental moring,
lost on the sea of gender identity
and I don't see a gull, let alone the coastline.

And if the God of science says I'm carrying an 'XY' cromasome
then is it just in my head? But the shrink said
she can't bannish the demon of dysphoria.
And if the God of the church says I'm not following their sarcosanct tome
And I've fallen to temptation... but the words are open to interpretation,
and who appointed yours the 'official' version anyway?

There's no science, scientology, philosophy, theology
to tell me my place amongst the human race.