My bones are not sculpted with paint brushes or clay
and even though my body is printed with words
I wear them more like bruises, than badges.

I am hollow as I breathe.
A well oiled machine doesn't rattle like I do.
I do not exhale butterflies;
I am not delicate like this
and I am not patient either,
because I'd rather shave my own head
than wait for my hair to grow.

I am held up by my boot straps
(even though I don't wear boot straps,
more like ill fitting clothes
draped over my bones like caution tape)

I feel more like a woman
when I look like a little boy.

Sometimes, I tell myself I am a little boy
who knows how a woman breathes
under the weight of her chest.

I am my God, my Goddess, the only one
willing to hold me up under the weight
of my chest.
For this, I am still blessed.