He

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...and when he woke,
he discovered that he was she
His face,
impossibly cute
His hands,
tiny and delicate
His chest,
once a beautiful plain,
overtaken by hills of breasts
and below...

He screamed
in a voice not his own
Punched the mirror
that had dared show him
what was not him

Only the tears
that ran down his face
seemed real,
hot and bitter.

This poem was inspired by a young man, who is struggling with gender dysphoria. I can never know what he is going through, but I hope that I have, at least, gained some sensitivity about the issue.

submitted for mindlovemisery, Prompt 10, The Metamorphosis