SUFFERING was a word invented by a man
with a silver spoon and fork,
with a nice brain that matched their junk
a brain that didn’t whisper i love yous in the middle of the night
when you’re trying just to get some sleep
but your mind
echoes self-love where you can’t get it.

and that word is whispered to the back of my head
to the front of my chest
inbetween my thighs like maybe you’ll make a difference
if you express sympathy for a body,
just a body that oozes what you would call
misfortune.

but i am not your headline;
people like me are not your story,
you put me down with black ink on white paper
and your dichotomy echoes the insincerity
in your sincerity
the way you cannot understand that when you put
transgender or gay you expect it to mean tragedy.

i am not your tragedy
**** do not chain me to a stereotype
i am not “your trans* friend,”
a unicorn that has been trapped and ****** of silver blood,
my ****** chains me to a history of hostility and scars
that i have risen ABOVE.

i see your face fall when i say my body is beautiful,
and hear your hitching breath when i tell you i am just like you
a being with a body who is trying to see
the glory in mismatched parts
imperfect scars
and i am not SUFFERING
i grabbed the word from the dictionary
and shoved it down your throat.