Scar tissue

Scar tissue


There is something strange about being
seen simply as the man I am and yet
knowing that what lies between my thighs
was called at birth

I was determined male
assigned as ‘a boy’
birthright and surgery combined to make me.

I am determined to be a man.

If he loves and sees me,
can it be?

Beneath the sheets I feel revealed,

lines of scar that I hope he won’t feel,
small splotches that I see stain my skin
the natural shape disowned for me long ago
 which I never saw untouched

—afraid of what he sees.

I fear
that seeking the masculine divine
in my lover is looking in a mirror
in which I feel hopelessly, secretly distorted.

That I will never be what I am, must, be.

But then he sees me,
tells me I’m beautiful—
and I believe.

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