Dysphoria; noun.
A feeling of unease.
A feeling of hopelessness,
Helplessness,
I-can’t-stand-this-ness.

The feeling you get
When you look down
And the body you see
Isn’t yours.
Can’t be yours.
It’s so wrong it hurts.

And it does hurt.
Every inch of that body
Burns and aches
With a ferocity you didn’t know
You could muster.

Your body isn’t a temple,
It’s a cage, a prison.
And the guy that yearns
To be free is trapped
Underneath layers of skin
And femininity.

But he shines in your eyes,
In your boyish grin,
In the hours you spend
Shaping this body to
More reflect who you are,
Even if no one sees.

And that hurts,
Because even after you’ve
Flattened your chest
And shoved a sock down
Your jeans you still get called
Ma’am, or worse, it.

They say people fear
What they can’t explain
But this doesn’t look
Like fear to you, and it
Doesn’t feel like they’re
The ones who are scared.

Because you are scared.
You’re afraid to speak up
Because the pitch of your
Voice might give you away,
And it doesn’t matter what
You say, it’d be coming
From the mouth of a girl.