“Dysphoria”
You can touch,
but not too high.
You can grab my shoulders,
and feel the bones sink into your palms.
You can trace my back with your fingertips,
and be able to count every one of my vertebrae.
You can bite my collar bones,
and see your marks on my transparent skin.
You can touch,
but not too low.
You can graze the hair on my legs,
and notice how they are thin, wispy and mangy.
You can kiss at my waist,
but not explore what lies below.
You can rest on my stomach,
and feel my unwanted curves.
“I’m Afraid But Never Happy”
I promise that everything is fine with me and that I’m
completely okay with how I am now and that I’m not
a liar and I always speak my mind because I’m not afraid
to show my feelings because I know I won’t be scolded but
I won’t say that I feel like I’m invalid, I’ll never
say that, because I’m totally honest and always happy.
There is always a smile on my face and I always feel happy
when I hear my mother call the wrong name and I’m
glad to respond because I won’t be yelled at and never
have to worry about feeling like shit all day and not
have my day ruined because my family doesn’t even try but
some days I have hope that I’ll be called by my correct name and not be afraid
of the way my father treats me like a political matter and is afraid
that I’ll be more of a man than he is. We’ll be happy
as a father and son ought to be and I’ll be his equal, but
I don’t see that happening for a long time and the fact is I’m
not going to move forward from this body that is not
mine nor my parents’. I want to be honest, but the answer I get is “Never.”
My life will always be filled with difficulty because I’ll never
have a body that reflects who I am and that I’m so afraid
of people judging me for feeling male when I’m not
a owner to the right chromosomes, but I want to be happy
with my body for once and have it feel like it’s a home, and instead I’m
judging every detail in the mirror. I swear that I never
enjoyed puberty. I wished to switch roles with the boys, but
I was smart enough to realize it wasn’t possible to be what I wanted. That I never
would grow up to be six feet, have hair on my face that I’m
pinned down into a box labeled “girl” for the rest of my life, I’m afraid
that no matter how much I try to explain what’s gong on I’ll never be happy
with myself, because I’m seen as a dying infant by my parents and that I cannot
be a fully grown young man in their world because my body says I’m not.
My father once yelled at me for not listening to him tell me that I’m wrong, but
I know that I’m not and that I can feel my gender in my soul and it must be happy
and free from everything God got wrong in the womb. I know I never
can go back and play God and make sure I come out correctly so I’m not afraid
of people hurting me because of who I am, and that I could say what I’m
feeling and not needing to be afraid of my words being shot down like
wild geese taking flight, never being able to stretch out their necks again,
but instead I’m made into taxidermy to make others happy.
