A Prince Is To The Heir
I was a princess, looking for armor
The armor father never let me touch, but to which I
Needed, facing others and my mother.
But I must blend in with grace, no matter how much the
true bleeding of my colors have shown.
I throw my corset in the laundry rack, my naked chest resting against
the silk, sighing in relief.
The cupping of my breasts is gone, the tight tucking,
The uncomfortable feeling being similar as to when
a
man
tries to touch
my exposed skin.
A prince is now to become a king, but I tell him to let me rule
He simply shakes his head, for that man tries to cup my cheek,
but all I feel is
the cool feeling of the mirror on my knuckles.
I curtsy to the prince, as he does with
me.
I would rather be anywhere but here, sizing my torso,
tightening my waist to bring my hidden hips out, cutting my skin to slivers until they’ve dug into my bone.
All the blushing dressers and tailors tell me what an image I am, and I nod my head.
What an image I am.
Well if it makes all the poised and delicate lips joyful, then I must be modeled and shaped perfectly just for them
-
Author:
Christ(a) (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: September 23rd, 2022 13:04
- Comment from author about the poem: This poem is about I have felt ( still feel ) about my gender identity. not many people get that I'm genderfluid, and not many understand that I'm able to be a trans-masc. I've felt that way for a very long time now since I was 7 years old. I still live in a woman's body and sometimes dysphoria hits me as hard as it does when people get hit with the grieving loss of someone sometimes. so this is my story. And as for the "women" part of the story, it also explains a bit about my sexuality and how I like women as much as men and others.
- Category: Reflection
- Views: 6
Offline)
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