one middle school friday night i cut my hair, standing
in front of a diamond mirror, shaping
my image into something other than
nine year old boy–the difference so stark i stopped
recognizing my reflection

later i hung out with my classmates, sitting
on my hands, waiting for someone to
accuse me of identity theft. my future crush eyed me
twice, and the boy i’d date for a week
praised me. but no one ever dragged me off
that stage

not even when i was twenty four tearing
apart my wardrobe before a first
date, fearing a cis man would only find me hot
if i displayed my breast crease

and so i performed until i couldn’t separate
their love for me from
their love for my body
assimilating myself into ideas of womanhood
at any cost, and seeking
to understand my own desire through
someone else’s eyes

now at night i avoid the mirrors automatically
because i have not seen myself in over
a decade