You’re not like me,

they say.

They’re right you know; I’m not like them,

not like them at all;

but they are unaware,

that everyday I wake up and wish that I was dead.

Or that what I saw in the mirror was handsome.

I wake up and wish my chest was flat.

Or that I actually had something in my pants.

No! I am not like them at all!

I am a prisoner in my own body.

Tortured by what the outside world sees.

While somewhere inside hides the real me.

You’re not like me, they say.

They’re right, you know. I’m not like them.

Not like them at all,

I can only wish.