I have a date for top surgery
And all I’ve thought about since
Paying the deposit
With my savings that I need to
Survive on, without income
Being between careers and
Between genders and
Between friends, all I can think about
Is how unbelievably stupid I must be
To invite such trauma and tragedy
Into my life, willingly.
Trauma that no one will understand
Or appreciate, or be able to empathize with.
Trauma that I’ve experienced before
In worse circumstances.
To spend ten thousand dollars
To have some narcissistic psychopath
Plastic surgeon who doesn’t take insurance
Carve all the “tissue” off my chest
Seems like something an idiot would do—
In my egomaniac opinion I think perhaps
Humans are more wolf than sheep
He called it “tissue” for my comfort but —
I think it was his comfort, instead.
I know that in the years to come
I will be happier, but right now
I don’t feel comfortable about it.