To Be a Boy

I am a boy

Or, I feel like a boy.

Felt like a boy, since before I beheld the knowledge of boy or girl. 

Barely since the beginning of my concept of self was I a boy. 

I waited, curious of the timeline, and of the preordination of life, knowing it simply was male.

When I did not become a male, I was sincerely bemused. Then frightened.

I was beginning to grow, and in a way that was undoubtedly off-beam. Blessed with the prospect of breast and hip, but as an unwelcome block to the vision of myself.

To grow feeling less like a boy than a shell of a girl, hollowly carved as grooves and repressed thoughts in the interior wood of the falsetto I portrayed. 

Since my transition I am changed. 

I am thankful, so so genuinely grateful for the blessings of which I have been bestowed,

Regarding my becoming of my essence.

Medication. Not to cure me of my brain, but of becoming truly me, in body, skin, and mind.

Hormones, to correct beginning whisps of female puberty. 

Security, in the fact that I was to grow up whole.

I am a boy. 

I am a Man.

I am grateful,

Every day.

To look into a mirror and to see myself is more of a gift than I ever could have hoped for.