i became the only boy
that i wanted to take
my shirt off for
step out of my pants
without falling over
and pull my socks off
one by one
i don’t really know
how this whole thing works
but it seems like dinner
would happen first
maybe i’d bring flowers
say how handsome i look outloud
and mean it
if i still had to wear a bra
i would buy a nice one first
splurge on something more
substantial than a sports bra
maybe something with
an underwire and little ribbons
show that part of me some love
and i would be slow about it
run my hands over this body
that dysphoria has always kept
me from exploring
with my own flesh against flesh
take the time to learn
all the curves and edges
of this vessel that has never
really felt like home
always too tight around
certain parts and too loose
in others
but that wouldn’t matter
because i would be a gentleman
and do this with the lights on
pull my shirt off
in a way that wasn’t rushed
and begging to be put back on
right after it would hit the floor
at my feet
and my knees wouldn’t shake
mapping out the parts of myself
i always wanted to cut off
and my breath wouldn’t falter
but go out easier than it had
in years
because i am the only boy
i ever wanted to take
my shirt off for
and i deserve to feel beautiful
and handsome
and fragile in some parts
because i am still here
dammit
i am still here