i became the only boy that i wanted to take my shirt off for step out of my pants without falling over and pull my socks off one by one
i don’t really know how this whole thing works but it seems like dinner would happen first maybe i’d bring flowers say how handsome i look outloud and mean it
if i still had to wear a bra i would buy a nice one first splurge on something more substantial than a sports bra maybe something with an underwire and little ribbons show that part of me some love
and i would be slow about it run my hands over this body that dysphoria has always kept me from exploring with my own flesh against flesh
take the time to learn all the curves and edges of this vessel that has never really felt like home always too tight around certain parts and too loose in others
but that wouldn’t matter because i would be a gentleman and do this with the lights on pull my shirt off in a way that wasn’t rushed and begging to be put back on right after it would hit the floor at my feet
and my knees wouldn’t shake mapping out the parts of myself i always wanted to cut off and my breath wouldn’t falter but go out easier than it had in years
because i am the only boy i ever wanted to take my shirt off for and i deserve to feel beautiful and handsome and fragile in some parts because i am still here