Journey

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Non-Fiction  |  House: Booksie Classic

Submitted: August 27, 2018

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Submitted: August 27, 2018

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Year 1:

Baby girl born in cold, dark winter month.

Three sisters alive and well.

A family of 4 girls, what are the odds.

 

Year 2:

Not conscious quite yet.

Blind to sense of self.

 

Year 3:

I remember.

I remember sitting criss-cross apple-sauce just inches from an old television set,

Static electricity sparks between boy band on television and boy sitting oh so close…

Wait, girl.

 

Year 4:

I look at myself in the mirror for hours at a time.

Time.

It went by so, so slow.

I do not see myself.

Who I see is someone else.

Who am I?

Who do I see?

I see a little boy that I have never seen before.

A boy that I kept seeing.

In my dreams I listen to him speak to me in that mirror,

But I cannot talk back.

 

Year 5:

I watch the others in class,

Observing how they walk,

How they talk.

I am constantly in my head thinking.

Thinking: “What makes me different?”

 

Year 6:

I must say something,

I must say something,

I must say something.

I am home alone with mother.

I whisper quietly as I

spill my secret.

I need to go to a doctor,

I need to be fixed,

Please take me to a doctor.

I am not who I appear to be,

I need to change,

I am not me.

Please.

 

Year 7:

I panic,

I panic every day.

Do not make me go to school,

Do not make me be seen,

Do not leave my presence,

I need your safety,

Your protection.

I need help,

Please help me get out of my head.

 

Year 8:

Finally.

A doctor.

scratch that 2, no 3, no 4 doctors.

Nurses,

Blood,

Injection,

Test,

Injection,

Test,

Injection,

 Test.

A drive far and wide every week for visit after visit.

I have to do it

Put up with the pain and the complex thoughts processing through my head.

Still.

 

Year 9:

I was so close.

So close, but too late.

My breasts had begun to become.

Physical.

 

Years go by similarly.

I have 9 surgical scars polka dotting my frame.

My body is no longer in its natural form,

My gender synthetic.

I draw the line at issues below the belt.

I keep my V in its original form to remind me of the path I have followed,

To remind me of my experience,

To remind me of my female experience.

I do not need a phallus because the penis representing the man is a fallacy.


© Copyright 2018 Fox Maasch. All rights reserved.

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