The Thing About Being Cut In Half/Every Stitch
My top surgery was a huge deal.
It changed everything about my life
And the way I walk in the world.
The thing about being cut in half —
Is that you’ve been cut in half.
They sewed me up with the scraps.
Stitched me each layer
As best they could, playing god
The best way she could.
Do I look amazing?
Depends on who you ask.
Do I feel amazing?
Depends on what you’re talking about.
Do I love the rippled
Of scars pulling
Each time I move my arms
Each time I do anything physical …?
No, not really.
Do I love not being able to feel my nipples?
No, not really.
Do I love living as a man
Being gendered the way I have always known
I should have been—
Without a doubt this was the right decision
But it’s hard to feel that way
All the time
It’s hard to be proud of the canyon on your chest.
It’s hard to be proud when
People you’ve shown, people you’ve loved
People you’ve fucked disrespect
Your chest, like it’s
Like the surgery changed whether or not
You were you
How do you separate
The knowledge that you edited
From the knowledge that you can’t edit
Without leaving a permanent record.
The data is always there.
Nobody wants to admit the worst thoughts
That pop into your head when you’re transgender —
They just silently treat you different
And legislate things that make being yourself impossible.
Nobody wants to acknowledge
The canyon for what it is, something that is
Hard to go through.
Sure, I made a choice
Simply because staying whole
Nothing about my body felt whole
Until the treatment followed.
Even now, in my new life
As a bachelor
I lead with pictures of my chest
Because I know
That whoever loves me next
Needs to love every stitch.
None of it was easy and none of it was something
I’d recommend, unless you know
You have no other choice.
I am proud of my body
Proud of my chest
The thing about being cut in half is
You can come back from fucking anything.
Compared to that, most of life is easy.