Testosterone And Tea With Sam Dylan Finch: Week 5

You're gonna like this one.

You're gonna like this one.

When the doctor gave me the hormones, I didn't know what it would feel like.

 

ONE MONTH

My voice is deeper — it’s ever so slight but it’s real,

confirmed by a friend who quietly

remarked, “Your voice is different. I like it.”

 

Every little change is like a flower bursting open in my chest.

My heart is buried in vibrant colors.

In the morning, when I meet myself again, there are

dew drops on my lungs and I taste sweetness every time

I sigh.

 

I’ve been housed in a body that was given to me, but this

is the first time I’ve felt that it’s mine.

This is the first time that I can touch

my skin and know that it’s my own. This is

the first time that I see my reflection

and I am not looking for someone else.

 

It’s been one month. I can tell you

what I know now:

I know what it feels like to unveil a garden underneath your skin.

I know what it feels like to watch your cheek bones rise

like the sun from your fleshy, familiar face.

I know what it feels like to open your mouth and learn

to love the sound of your own voice again.

 

Here’s the truth:

When the doctor gave me the hormones, I didn’t know

what it would feel like. I could only guess

that it would be good.

I never knew it would be joy, the kind of joy that you fear

might tear the seams of your small body

because there is too much to hold.

 

One month on testosterone.

 

 

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