My chromosomes are wrong.
My breasts are wrong.
My hips are wrong.
My space is wrong.
I am in a shell, a prison.
Trapped, glued by 'miss', 'she', 'lady', my XX
A sticky, thick mixture of feminine.
I have never been me.
Few people know who I really am.
Him. He. His.
I am Tristan, and I'm a normal boy.
I just happen to be a biological SHE.
But no one sees me, no matter how hard I try,
I want to scream out for all to hear:
Just let me be XY