I shouldn’t yearn to hold a knife,
Slice it against my palm, my wrist.
It’s blade, holds in it’s balance, my life.
But oh God is it getting hard to resist.

I have flesh and bones and skin,
They don’t show others me though.
My skin, that’s not mine, for it I’ll sin.
In my self-pity, I’ll wallow.

I bought a binder,
Others will see me,
Point, look at her!-
“Her” isn’t me.

I’m human,
I breath,
Fight,
Cry,
Try,
The mirror still lies.

My body is wrong,
Voice too light,
Gods nothing seems right,
To be ‘normal’ I long.

When I’m alone, I whisper ‘he.’
No one else in near,
Yet still I’m conditioned to such fear,
Why me?

I ache to be real,
In a body that’s not fake,
Love what I see-
For my own damned sake.

It’s not a phase,
This is me,
One day ‘he’ won’t be a plea-
I’ll live my life not in a daze.