An original poem by: Axton N.O. Mitchell
“Top surgery”
I used to carry the weight
like a secret in my chest.
A burden I had to shoulder,
all on my own.
Through three layers
of nylon pressing
down on ribs and chest.
Making my skin and fatty tissue
flatter or appearing masculine.
Replacing Ace wraps winding
tighter as I take each breath,
broken ribs left to tuck me in.
This is my new skin.
Though,
sometimes I forget.
I already built it from within.
Years ago, stone by stone
There’s no need to shout anymore,
poking there will still leave me
sore.
Say it. Don’t spray it.