I look in the mirror-

Perfect breasts,

A waist to die for,

Hip bones that girls would kill for,

I am beautiful.

And I hate it.

I slip on the tan vest

That binds my chest flat to my body,

That hides my curves

And girlish proportions.

I think to myself,

“Perfect”.

I pull on a pair of loose jeans,

To hide the curves of my legs.

I’ve been working on growing the hair out.

It’s thin and long and I like it,

But no one else does.

The shirt I put on next

Is thin and made of heather.

It looks good on me.

Mom asked if I was wearing my binder today.

I feel confident.

My short hair is sticking up.

Stray strands unable to lie flat,

I try to style it so it doesn’t look odd,

But it still manages to flip up on a few sides

It’s not perfect, but I love it.

I look in the mirror-

Flat chest.

No waist or hips.

“I don’t look male or female,” I think,

“I look flawless.”