I am a certified boob enthusiast
I have learned to love breasts of every shape and size and softness
Yet I cannot love my own
I love girls and women alike
However, more recently I've realized
The term "girl" or "ma'am" or "woman" is not something that suits me
Do not call me "miss" because that is not who I am
"Girl" is like a beautiful pair of jeans that's two sizes too small
And I've been forcing myself into this pair of jeans for years
No matter how much it digs into my skin
No matter how uncomfortable
No matter how much my flesh will break and bleed onto the seams I force myself in
Because I've been told how good I look in this pair of jeans
Under this term that does not fit my correctly
"Girl" is only a word that I can admire from afar
Because the pair of jeans look beautiful on other people
The jeans look beautiful on girls
But on me only I can see the fat coming over the sides
Only I can feel my struggle to breathe under this fabric that's too tight
It's been choking me
Making me want to amputate the parts of my body that don't belong with steak knives
I am not stuck in the wrong body
I was not born in the wrong body
My body is doing it's job which is to keep me safe
I was born in a time where people have wrong perceptions of my body
Because people fail to realize that I was born in a beautiful body
That came with extra parts and also not enough
People tend to question why I would want top surgery
But if you had a penis growing off your forehead like some mutated unicorn
Wouldn't you want it to be removed?
It is a part that does not belong
A part that gets questioned
And makes people believe you are something that you are not
You are not a penis unicorn in the same way that I am not a girl
So why must you still insist that I am wrong?
Why must I not have a choice,
When children younger than I, born with extra fingers,
Can get them removed?
Do I really mean that little to you?
Because I am queer?
I am not sick
Unless you count the mental illness I am not sick
I am not cursed
I am not sin
I am me
Let me be me
Let me be me
Let me be human
Let me breathe
Let me be happy
I am tired of wearing this pair of jeans
That does not fit my form
I'm tired of wearing this pair of jeans that feels more like a prison cell
I throw the jeans across the room and stare at them as if it'll make them go away
I want to throw them into flames
I'm tired of people telling me what I cannot be
I'm tired of not being able to breathe
A hand wrapped around my throat forcing "girl" into my lungs
I'm sick of it all
I get up.
I walk across the room.
I put the jeans back on.
Points: 4
Reviews: 3
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