The deepest depths of our lungs
have been deprived of oxygen
for so long
that we cannot remember what is like
to breathe,
deeply and unhindered by
this binder
as the constriction threatens to
collapse the cavity of our chest.

Willingly, we trade our breath
for the exquisite, piercing pain
that we quickly come to associate with
peace of mind
and freedom
because it means the reflection of our silhouette
finally matches the physique our
dysphoria has been telling us
we should have had
our whole lives.

In time, this addiction festers and
we bind longer and more often as
our bodies grow weaker and
our minds more chaotic until,
despite the destruction,
we cannot bear to take them off
and face the truth
written in our curves.

The pain is at one with us now.
We endure, if only to be able to
run our hands longingly down
our flattened chests
as we wait, hoping that,
one day,
we will finally be able to learn
what it is like to
breathe again.

A black snake coiled itself around him last night,
until it rolled him 'round and 'round with his legs kicking
and he nodded off into sleep with his eyes teary and his ribs aching from the fight.
The great serpent eased up around him,
but once more in the day and well into the next night,
it constricted his bones to the point of breaking,
and through the lies and false promises of the reptile
he cried and cursed his life, his birth, his body.

Vibrant colors flood through the engravings in my skeleton,
the bright lights shining through my skin,
along every nerve as they illuminate themselves to make known their pain.
What a useless light show,
that nobody asked for,
telling everybody in vain
that it wants to be released.

if you could skip to the day
your dreams are finally true
would you be glad and say
i finally made it through
you would not say that
because you would know
you didn't have to combat
any struggles or undergo
the challenges that came
they connect you with mankind
you would quickly feel the shame
of missing the joy that can bind
your heart with other hearts
our battles join us as one
missing out on those parts
no great memories would be won
you would know you are a fake
and victory would lose its meaning
realizing skipping was a mistake
not as wonderful as it was seeming
be content living day by day
moments are sweeter than you realize
scooting passed time's natural way
is not as good as you may idealize

forty-eight hours is a long time to wear a binder,
and my ribs are screaming for mercy,
for a break from the compression and lack of mobility.
but it's not that easy.

sometimes i'd rather face the pain,
than face the fact that i am female.
these weights on my chest,
drag me to the ground.
i break down.

i feel locked in my body,
and all i want to do is break free.
nobody should feel the need to shower in the dark,
because the reality of their body is too much for them.
it shouldn't be this way

and i know i shouldn't compare myself to people,
but i cannot stop thinking,
'what if i were cis'.
i think of how much easier everything would be.
i wouldn't have to worry over how long i've been wearing my binder,
or if i pass,

i wouldn't have to worry about turning eighteen,
knowing i will be homeless.
but instead, my mother would celebrate her baby,
becoming a "legal adult."

forty-eight hours wouldn't be a worrying statement,
just another frame of time,
it wouldn't reflect on my self-care routines,
or lack thereof

it'd just be forty-eight hours.

How can restriction be so freeing?
Constricted in nylon compression
Freedom in mind
Shallow breaths
But filled with smiles
With a skip in my step

Say no
to what binds
darling say no
everyday
say no to lies
knock them back
lay them stone dead
everyday
say yes to life