A Boy Razed, A Girl Raised

I grew up with a subconscious hatred of everything that I was.

I hated the facial hair, the receding hairline, the thinning hair, and my voice.

I felt like an alien in my own body, trapped in a puppet that I had no idea I wanted out of.

A figure lost in the matrix, consumed by society’s demands for a boy and for men.

 

Keep the facial hair, it lets you look more mature.

Keep your hair short, it slims your face a lot.

Keep that behavior, it’s more masculine.

 

Kill the girl inside of you because it is an abomination unto humanity.

Drown your feminine side in a flood of testosterone and anger.

You will never be the girl you needed.

 

It wasn’t until I actually left home for good that I finally discovered who I am.

Now, I can consciously call my inner hatred of my body what it is: dysphoria.

I am changing my body because my body is not a permanent state of matter.

I am a river, changing my path and what I look like through my own will and force.

 

My chest isn’t flat anymore and I don’t have as much hair in places I didn’t want it.

My hair is coming back, thicker and healthier.

I’m finding it slightly harder to fit my hips into my pants at times.

 

I am a garden that has come back from the dead after several harsh winters.

A field of flowers in the irradiated wilderness of nuclear disaster.

The person in the mirror isn’t the alien in an uncomfortable meat suit,

The figure in the matrix without a map and no sense of direction.

 

I have flung myself into a new freedom that I never thought possible.

 

There’s parts that will always seem off for me, but the off parts aren’t what I see all the time in the mirror anymore.

 

I erased the facial hair, tearing it to the ground and drowning it beneath my feet.

I grew my hair, the waves cresting along my head like an ink-drowned field on a windy day.

I destroyed the behaviors, the toxins slowly purged from my body in hormonal antivenom.

 

I resurrected the girl, my personal phoenix emerging from the ashes of long burned boyhood.

I rescued my feminine side, scorching the flood of testosterone as she emerged from her well.

I am the girl I needed now, safe at last from the live burial in my subconscious.

 

And it’s all because of moving more into the love part of the love/hate relationship with my body.

 

I see me. I am me.