I don’t know if I want T in my veins,
can it break these ******* chains?
Will it make these bleeding scars heal?
Will it make me feel?

Feel okay, feel better,
feel like I swear I’m not under the
weather.
Feel like maybe this is the way I’m
meant to live.

But maybe this just isn’t for me.
Maybe this life is a bundle of lies,
a bundle of feelings on *******
and electrocuting itself
like a pile of live wires in the rain.

Maybe by following my heart,
I’m actually doing the wrong thing
but the wrong thing isn’t the wrong thing
like the right thing isn’t the right.

The right and wrong do not exist
and my therapist
is running out of ways to tell me that
it’s okay
that it’s okay to feel this way.

That it’s okay to inject a synthetic hormone
into my bloodstream,
my muscle mass,
to make my mental self image
match my outward projection of self.

And in a harmless act,
one of my best friends tells me:
you know, Dani it’s funny.
I wear push up bras,
and you wear
binders.

But at the end of the day,
this body is still my ******* cage.