My trembling hands touch the scars that tell stories of my distant past. Stories about a little girl trying to wear the dresses of femininity while her inner being was screaming otherwise. She was small and petite with bright blond hair that glimmered female potential in her mother's eyes. Little pink frills and lace wrapped in a bow framed her face. Though the small pink bow that was tucked precisely into her hair spoke of her beauty, there were knots buried deep within her small body, suffocating her slowly.
The doctors told this small fragile girl that she was confused. Confused by everyone's advice, she cut away her skin as if cutting the disgust would make her feel more like the boy she always knew she was. She dreamt of jumping from the highest bridge or crashing her SUV into a tree, if only to escape this body.
I dropped the "s" and became he. I grew into a self-conscious young man who walked with his head to the ground, eyes to the floor. God forbid if anyone would find out my dark secret. My trembling hands inject the very liquid that will make me grow into my own. Memories of the past seep from Her mind like the thin drop of blood that seeps from His leg. My hands become coarse, imitating my old soul. I put the syringe on the pale white counter and cradle my face.
And though I have not come full circle yet in my life, I see the world through new eyes. Eyes, that no longer speak of self destruction, create filters for the light to shine on the boy who lies within.