jolly maple
I’m still pretending to be a boy in public because I’m scared.
My girlfriend, Sarah, is scared too - people know her, so when they ask who she’s dating, she says “Bartek” (my old name), not “Mia”, because that’s what they see: a guy.
I hate how that makes me feel. I want to look and sound like a girl. I want people to see me.
Sometimes I act masculine. I get defensive when I feel unsafe.
I have long, curly hair my dad tells me to cut - and I won’t.
I sit a way to hide parts of myself I wish weren’t there.
I wear wool gloves up to my elbows.
I crave makeup - not to be pretty, but to cover a face that doesn’t feel like mine.
Every inch of me feels wrong.
People say I want to “be a girl” for attention or worse.
I wish they could feel what I feel for one night.
I wish there was a dysphoria simulator - so they’d know why I can’t sleep.
I want to be with someone I love and feel safe enough to dream.
I want to carry their child. I want to give birth.
I want my body to finally do something right.
I can’t even be on top during intimacy - it makes me feel disgusting.
I don’t want to feel like I’m overpowering someone.
I want to be gentle. I want to be held.
People act like I’m in control - but I’m not.
I’m scared of hurting others.
I’m scared of messing up.
Even hugging first makes me panic.
Today, Sarah hugged me and held the back of my head.
Something clicked. I felt safe. I nearly cried.
Then there’s Jonasz - a religious friend of a classmate.
He says all this is “mental,” that humans are “born to rebel.”
He quotes the Bible constantly.
I haven’t told him I’m a Satanist - he’d probably try to exorcise me.
But I’m not confused. I’m not broken.
I’m a girl, even if my body disagrees.
tranquil sandal