by Sam, 18 (he/him)
Hey, look, there’s something
I need to get off my chest.
I’ve felt this way for a long time
and I don’t know how to explain it.
Well I do.
Have you ever been afraid of speaking?
So afraid your heart stops to beat
and your hands start to sweat
and your mouth goes dry?
So afraid that if you speak you may die?
That’s how it feels
every waking hour of my life.
I wake up and comb my short hair out.
Hair I cut the night before because I tried
to grow it out but it felt like the longer it got
the tighter my chest constricted.
I brush the teeth inside the mouth that I hope
I can avoid using to strangers
Because strangers are so utterly unaware
How their polite words can sting me.
I dress in a cage to compress and masculinise my chest so I have a chance of being called
A man.
I dress in a loose fitted shirt and jeans that hide my thighs.
I contour my face just enough to sharpen
my soft jawline and to pronouns my high
cheek bones and to widen my nose bridge
and strengthen my brow.
I look into the mirror and say “I’ve got today.”
Then I start out the door.
On an empty stomach.
I go to school or work and I meet the people.
I open my mouth and suddenly my day crumbles with on word.
“She.”
Suddenly the foundations under me shift
and they erode to nothingness.
My heart twists and contorts.
Sure my name change has been adapted.
“Sam” isn’t just for “Samuel”
It can also be for “Samantha.”
Samantha is more palatable.
They don’t question why I would change my name to Samantha.
They just accept that I went from one woman’s name to another.
They just accept it.
God forbid I want to go by a man’s name.
God forbid I am a man.
Then I’m flawed and broken and selfish.
I’m unreasonable because I want to be called
something that makes me comfortable.
I’m unreasonable but those who belittle me
those who disrespect me
those who outrage over my existence
those who would kill me
are being reasonable?
Now, that’s not fair.
South Carolina, United States
Bridge Ink 