I am a victim to her, my abuser.
Yet bigots never think they should accuse her.
I am a soapbox, slave of haters;
From time to time, I classify us traitors.

My dysphoria, love of my life,
I transition with you… without strife?
My identity: you
Every test, job, and loo
Yet… quite often you pull out my knife!

She always kicks “my” genitals
Cuts my voice and chest
Attacks my face and social hole Nevermore in peace I rest.

Perhaps I ought to fight her,
Perhaps I ought to care.
But– androgens have poisoned me.

So little hope, you see….

Dysphoria,
my reader,
just try to understand:

Sparingly I use this word
Only for the worst,
But for you I do too have–
Pure and utter hate!


Written January 2015. Adapted for blog publication March 2017


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