the joy of self-destruction

they say god made me transgender
so that i may share in the joy of creation.
but i find my joy elsewhere—
in taking my breasts, untouched and perfect
and digging my nails deep into soft flesh
shredding it until there’s nothing but scars;
i find my joy in cutting open my womb—
my womanhood, my fertility, my so-called value
and pulling it apart into thin strands of spaghetti;
i find my joy in piercing my thigh—
injecting chemicals into my bloodstream
until i become hairy and sweaty and apelike.
they say god made me in his image
to cherish my body as an act of worship—
but i am a heathen; i am a pariah;
i am the maker of my own self-mutilation;
to create something new, one must destroy the old,
and i revel in my own ruination.