#095 Itch

My gender itches.

It is a sticker that was hastily slapped on me at birth -mine was pretty pink- and over time it started to fade and peel and curl. I lift the corners and hope it won’t leave a residue when I reveal the shiny polish underneath.

Perhaps the metaphor of a wound is more apt. Healing hurts. Realising that my life -my body- will never be how I imagined was painful. I can’t help but scratch at the corners of its crust, impatiently peeling flakes away. But I’m not ready yet. I hope it won’t leave a scar.