What I wouldn’t give to be
A piece of paper. Something to
Rip, scrunch up, to
Scribble over the mistakes upon
The expanse of my page.
I’d cross out everything that
Marks me as ‘her’.
Hips that jut out too much,
Curve too much. A jawline too soft
To pass as ‘him’. The nose I’m
Told is my mother’s, not my father’s.
Tits that have others defining me as
What I’m not.
I stare at the shredder down
The side of my desk. If I were a sheet,
Just one sheet of paper, I could feed
My tits into that shredder,
Watch as they turn to ribbons and
Drop away from my body.
But I’m not paper.
I’m a person.
I want to tear them off and
Scream.
I like this! The structure flows really well with a compelling use of language that inspires many interpretations. 🙂