Wrong
Why am I wrongWrong is vague and specific.
Wrong is everything that is wrong with me.
Wrong is my dysphoria and my body and the way the world sees me.
Wrong is every time I have to put effort in to the perception of strangers.
and every time I perceive myself through the lens of them.
Wrong is every time someone tells me
how brave I am
and wrong is every time I don’t correct them
The wrong is the tension that crawls over my skin
like I should be smaller
so I can fit in my self
Wrong is every day I say I will do work
and don’t
And is it wrong that I don’t care?
Wrong is when I’m awake at four in the morning
reading about surgeons
because my bones are wrong
and knowing they will see me
naked
and having to trust them
Wrong is the pain I still feel
from having the skin on my face
peeled away
to shape the bone
And wrong is the pain I feel
as I touch my new jaw
and wonder if the shape is right
or look in a mirror
and ask
what’s the point
Until I lie in bed
and ask myself
why am I wrong.