I look in the mirror and what I see is not me. Stubble on my chin, whiskers on my lip. It’s not me, it’s not me, it’s not me!

My hair is long and that’s how I like it.

“Cut it” they say, but I ignore them because I know that is me. I am long hair, I am smooth skin.

But the hair can’t stop my facial hair or the flatness of my chest.

I long to be me. To see myself in the mirror, to feel myself in everything I do.

I don’t want to wear feminine clothing, that isn’t me. But that does not mean that I’m not a feminine person, my soul is feminine, my body should be too.

I don’t long to be a woman, it’s confusing and frustrating, but I long to be myself and that body is not the one I’m in.

At the moment I feel numb, injured by the wrong terminology placed upon my form.

I feel alone in my struggle, my friends supportive, my boyfriend too, but they don’t truly understand. How can they? They don’t know what it’s like to be me.

Though I have never yet been complete, I know what I should be.

I don’t long for perfection, that’s unattainable, I just want to be myself. In all its imperfect glory.

I want to be complete, not perfect.