I gazed at my body in the mirror. This isn't mine.

I brushed my long, frizzy hair. This isn't mine.

I looked at my face. This isn't mine.

Alone.

Scared.

Confused. 

I hid my body, the curves I looked at in silent agony.

This felt better, but not right.

I dressed masculine. This was right.

I went by a different name. This was right.

I went by new pronouns. This was right.

I looked at myself and didn't see a confused girl that my body suggested. 

I looked deep down, and saw a bright happy boy staring back at me.

I was right all along. 

Because this body isn't mine.

But this soul and identity? That I can proudly call mine.