May 2018
They said
“Man the dysphoria feels great today.”
and what I said was “I’m sorry”
and what I wanted to say was “I love you”
and what I mean by that is I love all of you. Your body, may seem like pieces of 18 different puzzles to you, but to me; your body is an abstract picture at MOMA that just needs to be stared at a little longer. Your body, is five feet of curves and stretch marks and beauty that can not be quantified. When I look at you I do not see the crumbling infrastructure I see the built up edifice. I see two legs holding up my world. When you take off your shirt I see the stomach that held butterflies just like mine. When you strip away your binder I look at ******* that may not be the same size but they somehow both fit perfectly in my hands. Your neck, holds the chords to every one of my favorite songs. Your lips kiss me with a ferocity, your teeth, crooked and twisted still smiling at my bad puns. Your nose, you complain is too big but is the perfect shape for me. Your eyes are so dark you say they are black but I see the same color I like my tea. Skin, seared with the comments of either too dark or too light. You see yourself as broken. But I don’t think you’re right.
“Man the dysphoria feels great today.”
and what I said was “I’m sorry”
and what I wanted to say was “I love you”
and what I mean by that is I love all of you. Your body, may seem like pieces of 18 different puzzles to you, but to me; your body is an abstract picture at MOMA that just needs to be stared at a little longer. Your body, is five feet of curves and stretch marks and beauty that can not be quantified. When I look at you I do not see the crumbling infrastructure I see the built up edifice. I see two legs holding up my world. When you take off your shirt I see the stomach that held butterflies just like mine. When you strip away your binder I look at ******* that may not be the same size but they somehow both fit perfectly in my hands. Your neck, holds the chords to every one of my favorite songs. Your lips kiss me with a ferocity, your teeth, crooked and twisted still smiling at my bad puns. Your nose, you complain is too big but is the perfect shape for me. Your eyes are so dark you say they are black but I see the same color I like my tea. Skin, seared with the comments of either too dark or too light. You see yourself as broken. But I don’t think you’re right.
