The first time taking off my binder,
I breathed a heavy breath,
And tried not to cry.
I had an item in my hold
That could make me happy for a day.
I had found my key.
Now I have trouble taking it off,
Because at the end of the day,
I still want to be happy

to me,
you are
an art

                              to you,
                              I was
                              a tragedy

I look at my chest the way I'd look at a wound
I know it's a part of me,
I know it's there,
But it feels temporary,
And a little gross,
Like when I sliced my thumb
On glass at 1am.
My binder is a bandage
And it's hard to take it off,
Because I feel the wound open up,
And my back hurts from wearing the bandage,
But it's so much better than
Seeing where my skin splits in two

When we are old,
And my legs are too weak
To twirl for you,
And my cheeks are wrinkled
From laughing with you,
And my hands are rough,
From the tools I've used,
And my memory is fading,
From the damages of age,
And your arms are too weak
To toss me into the lake,
And your eyes are yellowed a bit,
From the nights we stayed up drinking,
And your voice is raspy,
From talking for hours upon years,
I will still be in love with you.

I'm afraid of myself
I'm afraid of myself
I'm afraid of myself
I'm afraid of what I used to be