I don’t want to be visible.

I don’t want to be teased, bullied, rejected, and

hated.

I don’t want to be vulnerable.

It’s a double edged sword.

Because I also long to be seen

as my true self,

to stop being perceived as masculine.

I want to show the world my beauty,

the glow that only a privileged few get to witness.

I’m afraid of being visible.

I won’t even wear a dress

in the privacy of my living room

for fear the neighbors will see

through the window.

Or come knocking at the door

needing something.

For a long time,

nearly every time I dressed up

in my apartment,

my family would call

requiring some urgent favor.

And I would try to hastily take off

the butterfly necklace

I had spent forever putting on.

I learned it wasn’t safe to be myself,

even alone.

Like Pavlov’s shock collar,

the experience trained me

to never feel comfortable or breathe easy,

to stop doing the simplest,

most harmless things

that bring me gender euphoria.

My wants and needs come last.

Being outed could cost me

my job,

my healthcare,

my family,

even my home.

Just like being different cost me friends

and heartache growing up.

I am working to build a new life

where I am free and safe.

But living in the in-between is hell.

There isn’t a release date

I can count down to.

I’m tired of being alone and invisible

in most rooms.

Creation is painful.

There is a folk tale

where the hero is warned,

“If you take the feather,

you will know pain

and you will know trouble.”

I want to take the feather.

I long to burn in the fire

that is being

visible.