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May 2016
One deep breath pushes the anxiety down my throat,
just enough to stop my hands from shaking.

my fingers fumble with buttons,
false comfort lost with each layer.

I'm naked and exposed,
eyes flickering across my body,
contradictions piling up,
making self recognition and impossible task.

A broken binary lies scattered at my feet
like the clothes I've come to dread
and the skin I wish to shed.
Gender is hard, hope to improve upon this soon.
Eliza Fairchild
Written by
Eliza Fairchild  Ithaca
(Ithaca)   
1.2k
   ---, ---, Edgar Gordon and PoetryJournal
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