“That boy has a cunt like a wound,” they say
Not to be rude, and not to offend
But because it’s the first thing on their minds when they see me
There is a need, a gasp they can sense from my silhouette
It curls up at the end of my bed
There waiting when I wake up
It is the need, not for my skin to be whole
But to earn back my personhood
How long has it been?
I can’t think that far back
To when people didn’t always look away from me so quickly
It is a stare and a sneer
I am pitiable, laughable, weak
I am a disease and much less than a man because I have breasts like scars
I tuck and pin and hide away the most vulnerable parts of me
I change shape so often
I can’t remember what I look like again
YOU ARE READING
18 Years of God Damn Bullshit: A Memoir
Non-FictionPoems and stories from my chaotic life because I love to trauma dump with sexy words. Be kind, and enjoy <3