Sonnet 3: Of Breath and Identity

Breathe in, breathe out—pretend they cannot see,

This body built for someone else’s claim;

Short hair, powder shaped masculinity,

A hidden self kept silent under shame.

A binding cloth that robs my breath away,

Each tightened wrap constricts the chest I bear.

He’s in there still, though gasping in decay.

A name unspoken drowns beneath the air.

But with the needle’s pierce, fear yields to fire,

A flame that settles deep beneath the skin;

The pulse begins to match the heart’s desire,

My body shifting to where my soul has been.

When breath proclaims what history cannot damn:

I live, unmasked, and proud of who I am.