Imagine this...

Walking into your own house

And they call you by her name.

Of course, you have to respond or hell will ensue

But, you know they messed up. Again.

Question.

Do they know?

Officially you are her, right?

I mean legally...

I mean biologically...

I mean what you were born as...

Genetically you are born with a penis or a vagina,

Not a socially constructed role or gender.

I wasn't born into a dress,

Or a skirt,

Or a bra,

My skin is permanently etched with the lines

Of too tight sports bras,

Of ace bandages,

Of boxer elastics,

Of "love" on my wrist

To remind me that none of this is my fault.

Every time I am introduced its always a shaky:

"This is... uh.."

And a pause of analysis on my part to decide who I am for them.

Even others like me spit comments,

"Too girly."

"Not ‘neither’ enough."

"Boobs?"

And trust me, I get it.

If you have not noticed,

Not all boys have short hair.

Not all girls have long hair.

It's really hard to hide a chest my size under any piece clothing.

And before you even ask,

No, I'm not a boy.

But wait,

I'm not a girl.

I'm transgressing gender.

I'm transitioning from traditional to new and improved.

I'm transcending the gender dichotomy.

You could say,

I'm trans.