I walk the halls and glance at everyone I see,
The girls who are hurrying to the bathroom to fix their makeup,
And the boys who check them out as they walk by.

Is there anyone else here who can't go to the bathroom, because I swear to God just the thought of it gives me a small panic attack.
Is there anyone else here who looks down and is disappointed everyday because I am small, chesty and my face is far too round.

I never check out the girls, nor do I run to the bathroom to fix myself,
I walk and look at how much I wish I was one of the guys,
Flat chested, tall, lean and not having to wake up 5 extra minutes to put on a binder.
Never hating that their voice along with their round face will have others calling them "She" for their whole life.

Never will they come home with aching ribs,
and feel the stab of being misgendered.
Never will they be told "but you still look like a girl,"
Even though you are trying so hard that you feel your mind wearing thin.
Why can't I just be what they want me to be?

I've been painted pink the instant the doctors
Wiped me of red.
I looked like the boys I knew - our differences a
Color palette provided by Mommy and Daddy.
I was their little girl, their princess who wished
Her hair would stop growing,
Lest she be locked in a stone tower.
I didn't mind the dress so much then,
Not when it was the only difference between me
And them.

Magic mirror before me, is wrong all I'll ever be?
I shut my eyes, unable to stand my body bare.
My knight, your skin simply is not right.
I've read the mirror never lies.

Mommy and Daddy are yelling
About my butch haircut.
Our little girl the ****, they say.
I did it myself.
Mommy still buys me dresses,
Daddy tells her to spend the money on
Therapy instead.
Daddy asks about boyfriends,
Mommy tells him I don't have any because I
Hide my *******.
I tell them I'm all wrong.
They agree.
We're talking about two different things.

I don't change for gym anymore.
The girls are secretly relieved I won't be there
To cast a wandering eye in their soft bodies.
I'm relieved I won't be in the wrong locker room.

Mommy and Daddy don't like me
Telling them who I am.
I've finally found my way out of the tower and
The king and queen are upset because their
Princess never made it home, just the knight.
My little girl, Mommy cries.
I follow the point of Daddy's finger to the door
Until I'm on a bus bound for somewhere else.

I shift from Pangea into separate pieces.
Finally I have space to breathe.
Needles, knives, pills bend my body to my will -
It took Michelangelo three years to build David.

Mommy and Daddy believe me to be
A delivery man. They are expecting to sign off
On a television set, yet when they see me
Idle in the doorframe there is a hesitance, a hope.
But most of all there is silence.
Mommy cannot speak, her hand curls like a gasp
Around her mouth.
Daddy begins to cry, his eyes pale and blue.
I am hugged.
They don't say sorry, but I hear then whisper.
My little boy, they say. My little boy.

Dysphoria, it wraps and weaves but plunges me like a knife,
Dysphoria, it's like a big useless chest binder that tightens around your self-esteem.
Dysphoria, It is my best friend, but I smile in joy when it briefly leaves.
Dysphoria, My thighs, my chest, my hair, my jaw, my eyes and my smile write 'Her' 'She' 'Female' Girl'.

                                  Dysphoria, I'm always alone.