Xenophobia

I used to write about my gender with a passion I haven't been able to feel in quite some time, and while that may seem depressing at first, I have come to realize that it's more of a testament to the distance traversed by the ripples of my masculinity in a culture of white, cisgender gay men seemingly obsessed with such hyperbolic representations. I am only occasionally reminded of my differences, and lately, the ones who've been reminding me of those differences--the ones who have shut me and others not "fortunate" enough to have had top surgery completely out of the picture--have been trans men. It is also not lost on me that these men tend to be young, fit, predominantly white, cis-passing transmen. Rather than feeling "not trans enough" for most of my community, I now feel as if I'm too trans. 

My unmarked body may one day become home to long-awaited scars.
Or it may not.

Though the men who call me brother may agree that we are all immigrants to this land of culturally recognized masculinity, I cannot hear them through the wall their xenophobia has built. I pose with my hands above my head in hopes that my citizenship will not be denied, knowing quite fully that sneaking across the border does nothing to save those who've already failed by not passing. We watch through cracks in the wall, listening to speeches littered with self-congratulatory proclamations of acceptance and equality. It's so loud that I think my ears may bleed before my breasts: "MAKE TRANS GREAT AGAIN!"