by Trinitee S., 13
Cover this body with layers upon layers,
each one hiding the secrets I don’t want
to tell. They yell my curse, scream it out,
shout it, and others follow suit.
Four letter words may make violence but
S-H-E causes earthquakes inside me.
My curves curse me to wear my XX
chromosomes like neon paint.
Warning sign: This person was born
female. Born into an imaginary category,
forced to conform. My mind
is at war with the mirror eyes staring back.
Those little details sticking out
highlight them, cut and paste to another
body.
Maybe this bandage will keep me safe.
Maybe people will be
confused and not ask. Maybe they will ask,
for once, and not assume.
Matter is all I am, atoms twisted together in
disarray. And how can you call that anything but what it is.
I defy this binary, refuse to walk the
Pink or Blue tightrope.
Let me fall and land in Purple.
Let me live in the in between.
Bridge Ink 