Slam Poetry

Angry gender poem

I lie on the floor of the shower, procrastinating from washing my self.
Tears streaming down my cheeks, my leg propped over my unwanted downstairs, my arm draped over my boobs, my face starring at the floor so I don't see.
So I just breath heavily as the shower water hits my back, the only part of my body that I like, the only part that doesn't give away an obvious gender.
My hips are too big for a male, my waist goes in too much for it to be a male, my chest is too large to be a males, my wrists are too skinny, my legs are not lanky enough, I am not man enough.
I am not man enough.
So I lie on the floor staring at the whiteness, the water hitting the only part of my body I like.
The part of my body that no one sees cause it's always cover in a chair back or a backpack.
I try and stand but I just end up on the floor again.
I try get my soup but my hand refuses.
So instead I grab my towel cover my self and step out of the shower, changing quickly with my eyes up.
I pull my shirt up to place my shorts over my waist, and I glance at my self in the mirror, hating this skinny curvy waist. And I slide down the wall and cry.
Many girls would want my body, my arms are slim, I have decent boobs, I have an ass, I have large hips, I have a skinny waist.
But I want this girls body in my year.
The girl doesn't have curves, her hips are non-existence, her boobs are barely there, her waist is straight and does not curve in, her wrists are big enough, her legs are skinny and long.
And I want it so bad.
I want her body so bad.
She hasn't hit puberty, her voice is low, there is nothing flowing out of her that reminds her she is a girl.
And I want her body bad.
But she complains how big he boobs are, how her hips make her fat.
And I sit there, wanting her perfect no explicit gender body.
If you saw her in jeans and a dark top with short hair, you wouldn't know if she was a boy or a girl.
And I want that so badly, I want people to ask my gender, cause that means I'm passing as neither, it means I'm passing as someone who could pas as both, who could pass as neither.
But I'm getting pissed, cause she don't know half of what it feels like to cry in the shower, or to not look a yourself while changing.
She don't know how much pain I have, and she thinks I can turn this dysphoria off and it's all just a show.
But I'm lying on the shower floor, not wanting to look at my self, and I go without washing.
But I have asked you, and you are fine showing and getting changed.
So there is no reason for you to be complaining.
And also stop looking at me while I change, it makes me feel uncomfortable.
Stop making a big deal about my name, yes I like my preferred name, that don't mean you need to start every sentence with it or shout it compared to the other words.
Stop taking all your cis-ness for granted.
Be thankful that your sister hangs out with the queer kids while mine makes fun of them.
Be thankful you have friends that understand your problems, and you don't need to vent in some shit poetry book.
That your problem are only 'he doesn't like me back' or' my mum yelled at my for not doing my homework'
And that you don't have a problem about your whole body.
So just be thankful and stop taking things for granted.