Your body is a sanctuary A renaissance-esque statuary Crafted with detailed precision The product of celestial vision A private space for self-communion Where soul and flesh have their reunion Sacred by its very essence Grace in its ethereal presence

But like the merchants in Bethphage Even temples can be defiled Though oft through no fault of their own For men are ravenous and wild Would that you could set up traps And catch the villains in a snare But though secure, you may still find You no longer feel comfort there

"Stop that." I snap.

"Stop what?" He asks.

"You're staring at me like this is my fault.”

"Well, it is your fault, isn't it?"

"I'm in love with her." I say.

"You don’t even know what love is. You’re just used to her, that’s all.”

"And what's that supposed to mean?"

"You got used to her being around so now you want to keep her around for as long as possible because you’re afraid of change.”

"What do you know? You’re not even real." I scoff.

"Don't be stupid. If you're real, then so am I. We’re the same, that’s how I know how you truly feel.”

"Do you?"

"Let's see if she still wants to be with you once she discovers who you truly are."

"And who am I?" I question.

"You're deranged."

"Haha, that's funny. Care to explain?"

"You're talking to me, aren't you?"

I pause. "No."

"But you are. Just look.”

I shake my head. "I'm going on that date."

"Afraid she won't love you back?"

"She does love me."

"She hasn't said it yet.”

"You, just shut up!" I scream.

"Michael?" Elizabeth enters the room.

"Let's go," I mutter, grabbing my wallet and storming out.

"You can't escape me. I’m in your head." He whispers.

"Shut up."

"Pardon me?"

"No, not you! I mean... let's just... do you love me?" I blurt out.

"Do I love you?" Elizabeth echoes.

"Do you?" I ask.

"Michael…” she starts.

"Damn it!" I exclaim, lowering my head. "You were right."

"Of course I was.”

Maybe I went to bright. Just a little I mean it’s not like I look like one of those hippies. Just a bit of colouring, but now that I’m looking at the big picture maybe sea green wasn’t the best choice of hair dye. It’s not like I asked for sea green I asked for teal, and that’s what I got! But when I got home and washed my hair the next day I don’t think the chemicals in the hair dye reacted well with my shampoo. She now I’m stuck with this mess.Not only is it a horrific colour but the texture has turned straw like. I’m suppose to go to my first college party tonight, if I show up like this I will never be invited to another one ever again. A open the drawer to my bathroom cabinet, rummaging through it trying to find a comb and a bottle of hair spray. When I shut the cabinet I move back to my mirror.

But my reflection isn’t holding a comb and a bottle of hair spray like I am, instead they have their arms over their chest and are glaring at me with downward pointing eyebrows. “I knew it was to cheap to be good.” They say. I’m still desperately trying to rake the comb through my hair but it keeps getting stuck. “Well it’s a bit late to realise that isn’t it? I have to be at the party in 3 hours, there no way I can get a last minute booking.” “Maybe we can a wear a hat?” Says my reflection, but we both know what I look like in a hat. An egg. I look like an egg when I wear a hat. “That’s it” I say pulling out my phone from my back pocket, my reflection starts screaming. “NO ANYTHING BUT A YOUTUBE TUTORIAL!!” I huff and roll my eyes. “I don’t think we have a choice.” “Your an idiot if you think that will change anything!” “We’re the same person, you just insulted yourself.” I have already pulled the scissors out of wardrobe. To be honest I have no clue what I’m doing I just want my hair to not look like an experiment gone wrong. After lots of sniping from the scissors and squeals from my reflection. I look… quite cute.

“Omg our face is like the perfect shape for jaw length bangs.” My reflection gushes. “I think we look quite good with shoulder length hair,” I muse. “THIS IS THE BEST LOOKING WE’VE EVER BEEN!!” They scream with delight. “No it’s not” I deadpan. “Not it’s not.” They immediately agree. “But we are going to own that party, we are gonna have so many friends by the end of it.”

I shrug my shoulders unbothered. “I’m happy with just Tara, the only reason I’m going is cause she asked me to.” I’m straightening my hair while I speak, I still trying to pay attention though, a burnt ear is the last thing I need right now. “Yea Taras great, but there’s no harm in expanding our social circle” my reflection explains to me. “I mean I don’t think we can survive collage with only one friend.” “I could survive on my own.” “That’s really sad.” “I know.”

I walk out of the bathroom and head to my wardrobe shifting through my rails of clothes. I pick out some black jeans and a white tight polo neck. I stand in front of my full body mirror and hold the clothes up against myself. I stare at it for a few seconds before my reflection reads my mind. “Different top.” “Definitely.” I settle on a mustard yellow knitted sweater so that I can match it with my yellow high top converse. When I return to the mirror after getting changed. My reflection throws a fit. “Absolutely not you cannot wear that!” “Why not?” I don’t really care about what she says, I’ve already started putting in my star stud earrings and looking around the room for my star sigh tote bag that will go with my jeans. “Cause mum gave us that sweater, we can’t go to our first collage party wearing something our mum gave us.” She explains, I see no logic. “People aren’t going to know that mum gave it to us.” A say, I’ve started stuffing my purse and phone into the tote back, some medication as well. Don’t worry I’m not planning on drinking. “Well yea… but… still!”

“I’m leaving now” I say heading out of my room and walking out into the corridor. I reach for the yellow converses I told you about earlier and start lacing them up again. My reflection once again appears in the framed mirror in the hall, beside the door. “YOU CAN’T LEAVE. We haven’t done our makeup yet!” She insists, my hand pauses on the door knob and I turn to face the mirror. “We don’t wear makeup.” “…oh yea.” “Bye.” “WAIT PLEASE!!”

I open the door to Tara’s car and sit in the passenger seat, she’s wearing a long black skirt with a dark blue long sleeved cropped shirt. Her hair in its normal braid. “Holy Shit, your hair looks so cool!” She squeals as I do up my seatbelt. “Thanks” I laugh. “So you ready for the party?” She asks. Her hands are gripping the steering wheel so tight I’m scared she might leave an imprint. “Yea… you sure you want to actually go?” “Maybe?” Tara has always had trouble connecting with other people, but so have I that’s why we became close really quickly. I was quite surprised when she asked me to go to a party. Honestly I didn’t want to go, but it’s Tara I had to. “Or maybe we should just go to the mall?” I say. “Yea mall sounds good… sorry.” She apologies, she starts driving the car down the drive. “Don’t be, I wasn’t to keen to go either.” I confess. “Imagine that, your first date and both of us would have been miserable.” We both laugh.

Reyna stretches her arms, sitting up on her bed as she rubbed her eyes wearily. She patted down her unruly hair, walking to the bathroom and splashing water on her face. As Reyna was about to brush her teeth, she noticed something weird. Her reflection was glaring at her. How strange. Reyna nearly yelped as the reflection started talking. “Oh, it’s you,” It sneered, staring down at her. “I hate having to look at you every day. You look ridiculous. How can your friends stand having to be near you? I’m surprised you have friends I’m the first place.” “How are you talking?” Reyna asked, tilting her head, trying to forget what her own reflection had just said. “Am I hallucinating?” It smirked. “Maybe, maybe not. You’re different, and not in a good way. No wonder why Haren doesn’t like you.” That struck a nerve. “Shut up!” Reyna snapped angrily. “You don’t know anything about me!” Her reflection shrugged. “Do I? You can’t focus on anything for more than five minutes, you are afraid to get ditched by your friends like three did at your last school, and you’re waiting for the inevitable rejection.” That was it for her. Reyna let out a yell of frustration, chucking the nearest things- the mug holding her toothbrush, and the toothbrush itself- at the mirror. Cracks spiderwebbed across the mirror, all suddenly shattering at once. She sank to the floor, sobbing as she clutched her head, hating that her own reflection had just listed out all her insecurities. Oh, how Reyna wished that she was someone else.

Shane was beautiful. Her hair was long and black with perfectly tanned skin that flowed along with her perfectly shaped face.

Her body was leaned and muscular.

But she hid a terrible secret, a secret that forbade her from looking into any mirror.

She pulled on her jeans, jumping a few times to squeeze into them. The boards in the bedroom squeaked in response. She huffed and bent down to pick her shirt up: a floral crop top that she assumed hugged her shape nicely. Shane couldn’t tell if it actually looked good on her. She looked at the mirror she covered with a blanket all those years ago.

She remembered the first time she got startled by her own reflection. Her school was having an ice-cream day. She was told that she had to bring a dollar in for a cone. When she came in the next day with no money, she took a dollar from the biggest boy in her class. Shane remembered thinking that he didn’t need another ice-cream — that she was doing him a favor — even as he cried on the play set and watched everyone else eat theirs.

After that day she had seen a mark appear on her face. Deep and haggard. Disgusting. When she saw it, she ran to show her mother but her mother saw nothing.

And now she stared at the covered mirror, a corner of the blanket coming off. She gasped and ran to fix it. When she reached for it, the entire blanket ripped off and slipped to the floor.

She stared at herself, shocked at what the reflection had become.

An inhumane woman glared at her. The eyes were wild with glints of fire, the arms and legs were chipped and bleeding, her face was merely made of skinless muscle. She couldn’t stand it any longer. She couldn’t believe this is what she had become.

As she got older, the marks got uglier and deeper.

In her own eyes she saw an ugly beast. One that she knew others couldn’t see it.

She would smile and pretend that the wild beast was tame.

But whenever Shane felt moody or angry, she would let the beast run free and those around her would finally glimpse who she truly was: a monster.

I splashed cold water on my face. It helped, but not enough. It was all I could do not to put my head down on the cool countertop and stay there. But I actually had to be somewhere. I stood up and blinked blearily into the mirror. My reflection glared back at me.

“I know!” I said to it. It narrowed its eyes even more.

“Look, I know, I should have gone to sleep early, should have skipped the last drink.” At least once a week we went through this. Me apologizing to my increasingly haggard looking reflection. I should feel bad for it, but from what I could tell, it took on all the bad side effects of my late-night habits. Why would I stop when everyone told me they were amazed how fresh I looked? I still felt most of the hangover, which seemed a fair trade

Nice dress, check. Deodorant, check. Makeup, check. Everything should be perfect. This is our first date. The check myself in the mirror in the foyer before I leave, one last time. I bat my eyelashes to check if I glued them properly. But instead of reflecting my actions like it should, it puts its hands on its waits and tilts its head to the side, then sarcastically bat its eyelashes back at me. I jump back in terror and run away through the front door. I hop into the car and decide to drive as far away from here as possible. But while I am adjusting the rearview mirror, I catch a glimpse of a raised eyebrow. My eyebrow. I take a deep breath. It's all in my head. There is a logical explanation to all this. When I look back at the rearview mirror, my eyes stare back at me with an are-you-done expression. "What do you want from me?" I simply shakes its head in response. "Well then, why aren't you acting like a normal reflection?" This conversation is starting to make me feel crazy. It slaps its forehead, and then mouths 'no' while indicating so with its index finger. "No, what?" It points at me. I let out a frustrated sigh and roll my eyes. "You know what? I am done with you!" And I drive away, avoiding using all mirrors as much as I safely can. When I reach the restaurent we agreed upon, my reflection appeared on the glass walls, so terrified, as if it has seen a ghost, shaking its head, like it's trying to warn me from something. But I ignore it and make push the door open anyway. Inside, I realize what my reflection was trying to warn me of: He's cheating! He's actually cheating! Then why did he invite me here? I storm back out. And in the car, my reflection appears on the sideview mirror, sympathetic, but also has an I-told-you-so-look.

Sometimes, I wish mirrors were never created, because the girl in the reflection seems to take liking in mocking my every move. As I brush my hair, she does the same. When I cringe at the way my hair falls upon my face, she lets out a laugh. And if I choose to apply makeup, she judges the way I applied my blush. And if I glare at her she glares back. We‘re the same person, the same “thing” but for some reason, she makes me feel so small. Sometimes, I wish mirrors were never created, never a thing.

(An old prompt (and a story starter) (and there’s a certain theme, but I’m to lazy to try any harder than this (sorry )) but I wrote a poem for this ;) )

Startled, I gasp and stumble back. My reflection did not move and it’s eyes began to bleed. Almost paralyzed with fear I could not scream. Sitting against the wall as it’s mouth is opening wide. Beginning to elongate and stretch down to her chest. A low groaning echoed through the small bathroom.

I have to run, I have to move or do something. With adrenaline pumping and sweat dripping I manage to move my body. Swinging the door open and starting to run, Something grabs my hair and pulls me backwards then my head slam against the floor. Eyes rolling to the back they see only red and black spots as I slowly roll around. Confused and disoriented I try to make my way to my feet. The groaning is louder now, I hear it right behind me.

Crawling across my floor towards my door. Frantically grasping at the handle I manage to open the door. Warm, wet liquid accompanied by excruciating pain grasps ahold of my leg. Turning to look, I see my reflection now on all four contorted limbs. It’s inhuman mouth swallowing my leg while. Shoes, foot, calf and all now in its slimy sharp maw. Sill unable to scream or speak I feel my throat closing and begin grasping for air.

It starts crawling back towards the bathroom taking me with it. Grasping the door jab to hold on, I kick it in the face repeatedly to no effect. Violently shaking, it’s neck start to stretch to the point of tearing. It’s body is pulling against its self. All I could do was watch as it’s neck rips from it’s body and blood sprays in a gruesome bloody show.

My leg still trapped, it sat there smiling at me as thin fleshy tendrils protrude from the torn sections of the neck and torso. The body, still spewing blood crawls frantically over its own head to make it way up my legs. I’m kicking and trying to scream but my throat is still closing and Im straining to breath.

Crawling over me it pins down my one free foot and starts prying my finger from the door jam. Clinging on with the last bit of my strength it starts peeling my fingernails back one by one. Impossible to hold on, I let go, darting for my wrists it pins me down.

Trapped under its immense weight all I can do is stare at the abomination. Torso now convulsing on top of me. The gushing wound spraying my face with blood starts to separate. Ripping and tearing, the torso spreads in half with sharp honey teeth being exposed. A giant gaping maw of tendon and muscle lays upon me. With one last look at this horror I close my eye and give into my fate.

You’re turning into a woman, my dad said to me as he held a pair of pink pumps in his hands, staring at me, expressionless. When I say expressionless, you should know that later that same summer, he stared at me, also expressionless, as I stood before him dressed as a literal gay fairy, wand and all, rainbow makeup And all, flowing flower rainbow print chiffon. At which point he said, your jaw is masculine, words that would very nearly haunt me the rest of my transgender life.

No, dad, I’m not turning into a woman. Major eye roll. Does he even understand the gender spectrum, or identity politics, or non-binaryness? Eye roll. Did he even take gender studies in college??? Eye roll.

I’m a androgynous non-binary trans feminine gay mixed race AMAB, GOD! isn’t it obvious? Clearly over it, I grabbed another box out of my car and let him take in the bag holding my 23 pairs of shoes. Would a WOMAN even have a wardrobe like this??

If he’d seen me in the basement of my childhood home where my grandma lived, he would’ve seen me wearing more than just heels at the ripe age of four. I added in wigs and dresses, too. But maybe that’s just what young kids do. Go through grandmas closet.

If he’d seen into my mind, me in the basement of this same house I was moving into thirteen years prior, he would know that in the gay muscle porn I watched, I always imagined myself as the bottom, the penetrated, as we would say in my gender studies classes. And I was watching muscle daddies fuck twinks because I saw myself in those scenarios.

If he saw me my first year in college, he would’ve seen the booty shorts. It’s just a better cut, me and my girls would tell each other.

By my second year, I was wearing makeup at dance parties, naturally. My community dying for a chance to beat my face.

In my third year, I was wearing heels regularly. DIDN’T YOU KNOW THEY WERE ORIGINALLY FOR MEN?

in the year that was supposed to be my last, my hair began to grow out. I later cut it for work. And even later, upon planning to move back to Portland from New Orleans , I began growing it out again.

Gone for 8 years, my sad now saw the effects of a liberal California college, a loving queer community, and countless New Orleans costume parties later (requiring all sorts of debaucherous outfits, complete with corsets and fishnets).

Being transgender is not a series of external, superficial choices, I told myself repeatedly. Sure, I could be non-binary, feminine, and embrace androgyny as a man-ish person. But being transgender was more loaded, to say the least.

And certainly, I wasn’t becoming a woman, right?

A few years later, taking my first estrogen dose sublingually, I figured my dad may have been onto something. The tablets would help round out my hard body, smooth my muscles, soften the hair And skin.

Somehow, step by step, I’d stumbled my way into a sort of transhood, as if those pink pumps I’d donned all those years were taking me somewhere more than just my neighborhood dive. More than just into the fantasy realm I’d once occupied for the straight men Who paid me to dress up.

So I guess we were both right. I was embracing my full femininity . And as a non-binary person, I was becoming something else entirely, making it easy to refute what my dad was sure he was witnessing after almost a decade apart.

Straight faced, he helped unload my heels and a closet full of debauchery that sunny day, and an assortment of identities years later, and a lifetime of war inspired toxicity in himself.

I moved home so he could see all of me, for the first time since I was a kid in my grandmas closet. I moved home so he could finally see His child before dying. I moved home to give him the chance to love me, and not a finely tuned performance of me. I moved home so I could love him better, with my entire self.