A Different Narrative

 

"I've always known."

"I've always hated my breasts," I hear them say.

Neither is true for me. 

Knowing is a long process.

Hate was reserved for the necessity and act of binding.

I loved my breasts.

Sensitive and fun, that was my experience.

Feeling alone and misunderstood my sense of otherness grew and grew.

It was a hard decision, one that took years to make.

There was an instant I knew I would have surgery and that it is right.

I miss my breasts.

Say it like that fortune cookie game, with "in bed" at the end.

Otherwise I feel so free.

You can see an eagle soaring Right. This. Instant, can't you?

Oh, that's only me? Where was I?

Free, so much more freedom in my body.

I like my chest.

It feels good to run my hand down my bare skin and discover: 

flat, smooth, lump of scar tissue, flat again.

I can finally move right.

Surgery did more than reclaim my body.

My gender identity shifted.

Years, I identified as a transman,

forcing myself as much into the binary as I could.

Now I am beginning to recognize my truth lies elsewhere.

Since surgery I have struggled for a name that fits.

Coming to: genderqueer, gender fluid transman.

You can be privy to what that means once I know.

So much to explore, 

femininity- no less there for a lack of breasts, informs my masculinity.

 

-written by Davin