sore and sweaty in the
dishpit at work,
well-worn boots on my feet
that i’d had for years before
i even knew what the words
queer and trans meant
and the black jeans that
i’ve been wearing for two days
to go with the black box dye
staining my hair
laura jane grace sings to
me through the radio
speakers about being androgynous
and i think about my gender then,
feel the ridges stretch where breasts
once sat when i reach just far enough
to grab more dishes stacked beside me
mostly, i think about how
my girlhood felt like the steel jaws
of a spring loaded trap,
and no matter how hard i tried,
i could never gnaw off my
own limb to get free
i think of the testosterone for
a little over five years,
and a double mastectomy,
and the $200 to change my
name and gender marker
i ran from my girlhood
as far and fast as i could,
into the arms of the man
i made myself to be
and then i think of you,
long hair and longer legs,
twirling around in that skirt
i gave you
your womanhood is a gift,
one that i am forever humbled
to witness you reveling in,
watching you embrace everything
that i felt held back by
for you, to be a woman
is not a steel trap,
nor a choke-chain
or something to run from
for you,
to be a woman is a
beautiful thing,
and how beautiful you are