Content warning: Dysphoric imagery, mention of genitals.

Dysphoria Pt. 1

Like most things, it hits
when you least expect it.
For me, it can look like lots
of things.
A pair of legs spread eagle,
relaxed and de-curved.
A tall voice with deep resonance
that reaches a place in the chest
that just doesn’t exist
in me.
And it’s a comparison in little things too:
My smaller feet, my smaller nose
and my estrogen-smoothed jaw.
But it passes; it always does.
Still. Swept together in just a few seconds,
it’s a wash of Not Right.
And though I know
that’s not what it takes to be a man,
I’ll never look like that.
I’ll never look like that.

Dysphoria Pt. 2

So what does it matter? Because, at the end of time, people are going to have biceps and nipples, and vulvas, and testicles and hair somewhere on their body. So what does it matter?

When I ask you to cast off society, I want you to do so completely.

Why does it matter?

Now I ask you to go to a place with no other humans. Just you. Where are you? Who are you? I’m no one. Who I can become remains to be seen.

But, I guess, when there’s no one left, the point won’t be there anymore either. So, why hasn’t it stopped mattering?

When I ask you to go to an alien planet, what form will you take?

It’s not so simple as wanting what I can’t have – this was something taken, I just can’t remember exactly what it was.

I guess it doesn’t matter. But I still don’t want this. It’s all wrong. It’s all wrong.

About the author

Sparrow (they/them) is a writer from the Appalachian Mountains in North Georgia. They enjoy hiking, hammocking, and cozy days at home with their Nintendo Switch. Growing up in the south, Sparrow has a particular interest in southern queer voices and uplifting young folks to live authentically–no matter what their neighbors may think.

Photo by Pawel Czerwinski on Unsplash.