18 Years of God Damn Bullshit: A Memoir

C*ntboy

“That boy has a cunt like a wound,” they say

Not to be rude, and not to offend

But because it’s the first thing on their minds when they see me

There is a need, a gasp they can sense from my silhouette 

It curls up at the end of my bed

There waiting when I wake up

It is the need, not for my skin to be whole

But to earn back my personhood

How long has it been?

I can’t think that far back

To when people didn’t always look away from me so quickly

It is a stare and a sneer

I am pitiable, laughable, weak

I am a disease and much less than a man because I have breasts like scars

I tuck and pin and hide away the most vulnerable parts of me

I change shape so often

I can’t remember what I look like again