I would gladly wish upon my self portrait and ask that it age instead of I.
I would have no regrets, should I die tomorrow.
But, my greatest fear is living another twenty years.

En homme, I feel at home.
En femme, I’m still him.
That is, me.
I was mommy’s little princess, and daddy’s little prince.
I just didn’t know there was a word for it:
Him today, her tomorrow.

By the time I smoked down to the filter, I’d re-written my suicide note.
30th revision!
It’s my magnum opus.
Been working on it since I was ten.
Eleven? I didn’t believe in god.
They called me a heathen.
At twelve, even.
They called me queer.
They weren’t wrong.
But that didn’t make them right.