A nonbinary person going to the bathroom - a poem
I always enter cautiously.
Choosing the least desirable location, ensuring the room is vacant.
Because if someone was in there, they would assume I didn't belong.
My shoulder-length hair with a slight wave, my earrings, bracelet, and ring all lump me into the category of the room.
But the patchy, dark hair on my neck and face, my arm hair that creeps up my hands- I pull down my sleeves. I tilt down my chin.
I hide the changes I've worked so hard for. I shield my comfortable skin and features I'm proud of.
I always have an excuse prepared. A medical reason that isn't a lie, but isn't the truth. Would they even believe it? Would they even care?
They could look even closer, scanning the lumps of fat on my body that my clothes morph to. Round and sleek edges, do my crevices give it away? Does my skin texture give it away...?
I try to act normal, but also try to act covert. I don't want to be here, but I have no other choice. This is the lesser of two evils!
It's a bind to the old me, but a comfortable place despite the dread of their stares looming over me.
I hide in the chamber longer than normal. If someone comes in, I wait for them to leave or enter their own chamber. God, I hope no one sees me before I leave.
I look at my reflection in the mirror, and I feel like the freak people call me.
I do my business and leave as I always do; there is nothing more to expect. And the anxiety builds and dissipates as I go back to my normal routine.
"Took forever in the bathroom like always, I see."
"Haha, yeah, sorry. Let's go."
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