The Scar is a Heartbeat

the first time i bound my breasts

i couldn’t breathe

the tight fabric

on my sensitive skin

was too much

then i looked in a mirror

and cried

this is what i’m supposed to look like

this is who i’m supposed to be

it is still uncomfortable

to this day

straps cutting into my skin

even with the safest ones

squishing the comically large breasts

for someone with such dysphoria

into almost oblivion

but never enough

sore spots under my arms

awkward movements to prevent pain

but it didn’t

because holy shit

that person in the mirror is River

they are me

so when i sat down last week

in a bright white office

that was way too fancy

for the likes of me

and my surgeon sits down

and asks

what does your ideal chest look like?

i was silenced

you were there

with me waiting for the answer

who knew such a simple question

could make me feel so human

of course the words I could get out

were no chest at all

but he knew what I meant

and when it came time to take pictures

they covered the mirror

such small detail

such a huge deal

an understanding of

nonbinary and trans folks

that is largely absent in the medical world

so now, in a few months

there will be no more pain

no more spots rubbed raw

so i have to take a break

and wander into the world

not feeling like me

there will be no more

squishing these comically large boobs

into binders that that never quite work

i will walk out after healing

me

River

no different from who i was before

but comfortable

and without pain

i imagine the gender euphoria will be more than it was

when i looked in the mirror

the first time

and decided i would trade my comfort

for looking like myself

six months later, together

the first time i looked into the mirror after surgery

soothed my brain in a way

i didn’t realize was possible

holy shit

i am me

or rather

i look like me

now i am not the me

that wrote with rose colored glasses

what the pain of transition would be

i would not trade it for the world

i am now in the in between body

the neither nor body

i’ve started to love my softness

turns out I love a dress

just didn’t like that they emphasized my chest

because now i am me

and this me, this changed me

is at home in their skin

at home with you

and when you stepped off that plane into my arms

and i was transformed

we rose to the challenge

and started to believe in fate

everything after that was a bonus

the euphoria when i looked

down at my chest

in my favorite tank top

could only shine brighter

by knowing you

were there to witness

to love

and now i look in the mirror

knowing i was both naive about the pain

and i underestimated the joy

it would be to feel comfort

in my own skin

because i never have

to be able to move in confidence

around the world

the scar is a heartbeat

the before

the after

when your fingers paint it

on my skin i can feel

every ounce of love

pulsating

lost in space

trading

short intense pain

for

this joy

i am me

River

i built this me

we built this me

in a creepy hotel room

with an hourly rate

each gasp of pain

met with gentle hands and soothing words

we meet gore with patience

and secret paranoia

while we watch the moon

from the balcony

not romantic

survival

i needed to

feel you close

and now

with the world burning

we find euphoria where we can

in our cats

in each other

in the story of our love

in the heartbeat scar on my chest

that we’d rather not fade to nothing

scars are beautiful

i am me

you are you.

this is not gender euphoria

this is gender enlightenment

***

You have always been you.

You couldn’t be anything else.

And Lord knows—you tried.

It tied you in manacles.

Trying

to fit.

To be who they

wanted you to be.

But you couldn’t be anything else.

Not to me.

The frown line next to your lighter eye

when you’re thinking.

The shoulder slump when you’re sad.

The way your eyes shift right

when you're figuring out how to say things

correctly. Understoodly.

The infectious, silly giggle that gurgles

like rain spiraling through a gutter pipe.

The way your arms feel

when they wrap themselves around me.

No.

You couldn’t be anything else.

Not to me.

Not to yourself.

But the world didn’t see you—

and you needed them to.

Deserved them to—

know you.

So we bled through the phone,

across miles

and oceans,

before finally

holding hands in waiting rooms

and cheap hotels,

snatching kisses in the back of taxis,

and praying the pain would mean something.

That the scar would

speak louder than the silence

they tried to keep you in.

I didn’t care—

I never cared about the way

you looked.

Trappings.

Tinsel.

Anyway.

But I cared how it made you feel.

After.

Half-asleep and full of ache,

but lighter—

brighter for it—

in that mesh vest,

eyes rolling from

pain meds—

God,

you looked like joy

smiling,

even though

your body

was broken.

I watched you sleep.

Rise and fall.

Heart.

Beating in time with the

new

external

you—

the one I

already knew.

Had always

known.

Rhythmically.

Quietly.

In internal pain,

You were

Becoming.

Emerging

From the chrysalis

That had

Caged you

For too long.

You.

My River.

Free.

We wrote this one together, we have not been able to accurately capture our journey together, but we have been able to capture bits and pieces of the beauty. We have lived a whole lot of life together in just the past year

The first two parts come from this.