Next?

I’m finally home from top surgery, I

Had to drive to another state to find someone

Willing to cut fat tits, so I stayed there

In a hotel until my drains came out. I’m

Finally home, from surgery, with a body that

I now realize

I had built a life

Distracting myself from.

Everything about my job, my

House, my hobbies, my interests–

Everything about me was hidden

And now

I don’t really feel the need to hide, any longer.

I suppose this is where most people

Post a pic, or a selfie, because they

“Last Longer”, but IMO

Poems are eternal, and I might even argue

That since I write about things

That happen to me after-the fact

Sometimes poems are eternal, and infinite, and

All-knowing in a sort of cyclical, pre-emptive

Ever-Initiating sort of way. Kind of like

All the poems I wrote before this one,

Now, after the fact

After all of this flesh settles

I struggle to see the importance

Of my anger, and instead

Am a bit blown away

At the positive effects of my perseverance.

Turns out, being rejected for top surgery

The first time around, was hands down

The best thing that ever happened to me

I survived the depression, and

Tried again–

I found a surgeon who

Not only respected my body, but

Respected me, and my nonbinary identity.

She also greatly respected my masculinity, and understood

That I was in fact there to pass as male

To go on with my life as a man

With the past of a woman

This was not abnormal to her as she was

A professional tit-chopper, she sees

Hundreds of trans and nonbinary people

Each quarter, yearly? At least 500–

That’s a thousand tits a year.

Anyway, this lady had seen

Trans tits before and she

Gave me top surgery as if it was the thing

She had been put on this earth to do.

I think perhaps

She gave me top surgery

With love in each stitch, that is what

It feels like, to me, as the one

With the numbness in his chest.

I wonder if it’s possible

To heal, now, considering

The amount of stitches, each soaked

With passion and perseverance —

I wonder if it’s possible for

The love to bleed into all of the rest

Of my life, I feel love

Each time I look in the mirror, each step I take

Without a bounce, without a nonstop

Constant, daily reminder

Of the woman I never asked to be,

Instead replaced with

The surgeon I never expected to meet.

I have been overwhelmed emotionally,

Totally without dread, the only

Existential fears I have

Are the ones where I can’t figure out

How I can repay this debt–

Not financially– the surgeon took great care

To take insurance, that way

My top surgery cost $1,680, I chose

For extra features that added $2k, bringing my total

To $3,680 for the whole shibang.

I do not have a debt to this surgeon–

I have a debt

To the society that allowed me to become

The man I never thought possible, I wonder

How I have time left

To pay this sort of debt and I wonder

If I will ever contribute anything

To others as profound and as

The service I was provided

By a stranger who decided

She wanted better for someone

She’d never met.

I also want better

For strangers I’ve never met, and I

Don’t want to spend

Any more time on the stupid fucking internet

I want to get out

Do things,

Keep hearing people call me “Buddy”

And shake hands

Until I’ve figured out what it is

I’m supposed to do next.


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