a self made man

i bring a flannel to the
bathroom with me for
after my shower

no sports bra,
no binder,
no tee shirt

just fabric, soft from
years of wear, against
the scar that stretches,
unbroken, from armpit
to armpit

i watch myself in the
mirror, hairy stomach and
chest briefly on display,
pull the clover pendant out
to rest against the front
of the flannel, right over where
my scar is thickest in the middle
of my flat chest

i take the time to marvel at
how i get to wake up a man
every day, for the rest of
my life, because that is
what i chose

this is my one and only
most precious life, and i spent
far too long denying myself the
joy of my queerness and transness

why should i do that now?
why should i give into the misery that
is being pushed upon people like me,
when i get to watch the sunrise as i
walk to work? when my anniversaries of
top surgery and testosterone were only
one day apart last month? when i get to be an uncle?
when my mother calls me her son and
means it? 

i am bathed in that early morning sun,
awash in so many rainbow hues,
no longer burning the candle at both ends

i will not be a statistic,
i will not be a martyr,
i will not be changed or silenced

and hell, wanting to die gets old,
after a little while

so i am going to grow up,
and i am going to grow old,
i am carving out a life for myself
that is worth living,
and holding onto that with
both of my hands