Waking up in the morning has never been so hardI look at death in the mirror, but he’s covered with scarsI sit down to pee, wishing I could stand I look down at my feet, fiddling with my hands Getting dressed is always toughMaking sure my chest is flat enoughBut I still feel pretty greatEven in my size 8 Small feet, small hands, small head, small bodyDressing this way is not a hobbyI tell myself I haven’t failedAlthough I am seventeen but only look twelve  I walk around this lonely campusMy body, a complex and altered canvasThe pain from binding pierces like dartsAs I try to hide these female parts I was a born a woman But will die a manTell me sirCan you see that I am trans?