Stuck Until Then

A poem about how I was very sad at a rave I go to every year, that I thought THIS might be the year I get to go without the restraints of a female top anatomy. Top surgery. Maybe next year. I hope.

I tugged hard at my shirt and straps,

My second skin sweating and slipping,

The music getting louder each second,

So hot that I wished to be stripping,

I see the girls and their eyes upon me,

Some casually, others passing through,

I catch the gentlemen's eyes and wish,

I would be losing my shirt like them too,

Maybe sometime I will get to join,

In the thrall of bodies and noise,

And have my own match what's inside,

So I may also feel their joys,

One day I'll be dancing with the girls,

And hold theirs hips with shy care,

Thrash with all the other guys,

Breathing freedom instead of air