It’s Sunday morning.
I sit at a table in the cafe and I read about monsters, demons, and supermen from the book in my hands,
I drink coffee and I am at peace.
I catch a glance down and see the swell of my chest.
It still surprises me, even now.
My gaze carries further down to my hips spilling outward.
It’s just fat and muscle, nothing more,
Because bone doesn’t move, not now and not ever again.
My gaze carries inward to my thighs,
Cresting the hills of injection sites and scar tissue,
Over countless points of self-inflicted and necessary pain,
And turns inward and upward.
For a moment my mind is fooled,
I see things as they will be,
The smooth line running between the folds of converted flesh and split muscle,
Into the cavern of my womanhood,
Into the space where my wife’s cock will rest,
And I rejoice.
I rejoice in my rebirth,
I rejoice in my renewal,
I rejoice that I have come to the most holy altar of reconstruction,
Made of stainless steel, autoclaves, and tubing,
Of blood and pain and lights,
To find salvation in a scalpel and a skilled hand.
I have been examined and analyzed,
I have not been found wanting,
I have not been forsaken,
I have been found true, and
I have been found worthy, and
I blink, no longer fooled by that which isn’t,
I sigh slowly and deeply,
Knowing my work isn’t yet done.
I am not yet me,
I cannot yet just be.
But I am free-
All because I said this will not be –
No more shall I wander in the desert of Otherness,
The desert of Not-me.
I can no longer be
The person others saw when they saw me,
He has ceased to be;
I have become free
Free to just be me,
Free to just be she,
Free to just be –
Poetry: Medical Necessity by Andrea C. Hawkins-Kamper is licensed under a Creative Commons Attribution 4.0 International License.