Why must you choose this torturous path?
Into the wrong body,
eliciting the urge to tear away your own skin,
compelling your brain to despise
the flesh you were given.
Why must you agonize
over the portrait in the mirror?
The ma'ams and ladies spoken by strangers,
The cards addressed to
graceful religious granddaughters,
Year after year.
Alas, don't you see?
None of this is voluntary.
No longer will you agonize over this.
For you are not in the wrong body,
and you are not the wrong person.
Because, oh beautiful, wondrous creature,
You are still growing,
And always will be.