I thought some of the guys earlier in transition might appreciate this.
Words are where I live and yet when I name myself, everyone becomes Harry Benjamin.
A second ago you were my classmate, teacher, buddy at work. Now you are suddenly staring intently, wanting ot know, asking your questions, lying questions I can translate:
When did you realise you were a man?
How deep is the delusion?
What's your family like?
What did they do to mess you up like this?
You don't plan on having surgery, do you? Really?
Can I pretend this is a talk show?
But biologically you're female right?
You don't deserve privacy. You're a freak who should be on display dissected and gawked at until you're an object.
Aren't those hormones dangerous?
You're going against the laws of nature, and you'll be punished.
Aren't you too young to be making this kind of decision?
I'm threatened by your power. I didn't know we could choose.
[...]
How about the doctor's office? Should I take you through, step by step? Have a seat and wait. If you are trans, you know how to wait. You waited fourteen years to hear a word that described you. Then three more years for the fear to subside so you could claim it. Then two years before you told anyone. You'll wait indefinitely to hear it spoken with a respect you can trust. You may wait the rest of your life before you stop suspecting they're all humouring you.
Poetry classroom. Fluorescent lights and you still say that we are all women here. I'm not a woman. It's so akward for me when you say that. Sorry, I didn't realise. I know you didn't realise. It's not safe here because you forget. You look right at me and you don't see me. And I am use to this but I want to expect more. This is my life. Do not erase me anymore. I used to let everyone else write me, but always read myself against the grain. I am writting myself now: do you read me?
-Darin Isaac Blue