Uncomfortable

When I was a bud,
I loved watching my father shave.
Cream in hand.
Lather.
Apply. Shave.
Rinse.
I watched. I mimicked.
I wanted to shave my face too.


Growing up my brother was favoured.
He was a boy, he carries the family name.
He was a boy, he could stay out late.
He was a boy, he could do what he wanted.
He was a boy, I wanted to be like him.


Growing up I was hairy for a girl.
Too much hair on my arms.
Too much hair on my legs.
Too much hair everywhere.
My pits reeked strongly. I could be a boy by smell alone.
My names were "beast" and "rambo".


Highschool came around.
And a boy looked at my legs and saw the "beast".
Highschool came around.
And my chest was flatter than most.
Highschool came around.
And I didn't need a bra until I was 16.
Highschool came around.
And I had good birthing hips. Curves I did not want.


At first I felt ashamed.
My hair grew too dark and too fast.
My breast were seemingly non-existant.
My hips were to big and butt had a life of its own.
My odor smelt of testosterone.
But I was not a boy nor was I treated like one.
Then I was unashamed.


A year ago, my body was at it was as a teen.
And now,
I need a bra now.
Despite my small waist, I need bigger jeans.
My hips have widened and settled within it hyperfeminate-self.
My hairs grow slower , less thick than before.
My odor is of sweetness and flowers.
My body is that of a woman.


It makes me uncomfortable.


Isla Skylark
13/05/19
12:22