my gender dysphoria plays the part of schoolyard bully punching me in the face with all the things i am doing that make me less of a man
i spit something back no room for being witty here cotton candy pink and blue stains my teeth drips down my chin
girlhood feels like a rot deep within this body that i am slowly sculpting into a shape that doesn’t make me want to hack it to pieces
but you call me “she” and dysphoria gets in another fist and i can no longer tell if i am crying from the pain of you so callously misgendering me again and again and again or the betrayal because i thought we were friends
but you call me “she” and so many things break inside me seven year old me feeling too big for a body that is already like dragging around a coffin shrinks under the fear of not knowing what i am
but you call me “she” and dysphoria drives a foot into my ribs grows into this thing that is too big for me to keep inside and it comes out as confrontation that all too quickly gives way to tears
because i did not languish inside of myself for nine years stumbling through trying to be a lesbian and nearly dying as a girl for you to call me “she”
i did not spend $175 on changing my name and gender marker to reflect who i have always been ******* for you to call me “she”
i did not make the decision to have a needle the length of my pinkie and roughly the size of a pencil led stuck in my lower back for the rest of my life for you to call me “she”
i did not risk shortening my life span to 40 years instead of the 75 or 80 it should be because people destroy what is different for you to call me “she”
i did not survive through who i used to be to become the man i am today for you to throw this gender i never asked for back into my face no matter how many times i plead with you to just give enough of a **** to get it right
i do not get back up every time that my gender dysphoria is made stronger by someone like you who so you can look me in the face see the tears in my eyes the tremor in my hands and still call me “she”
the proverbial blood that runs through my veins taking on the colors of a sunset drips onto your hands because you can’t see past the things i can’t control the things i am able to change
you can’t see the man that i already am that i always have been and you still can’t give me a good reason as to
why why why you can look at me with my visible ****** hair the button clearly stating my pronouns as he and him how i light up when someone calls me sir or mister and still stoop so low as to add fuel to the fire that is my gender dysphoria by calling me “she”