My current body feels like an alternative fact, designed by someone else and not quite the truth.

I dream of an alternative body, one I get to design, one that feels true.

Am I ruffles and sequins? Tailored wool, flowy silk or cozy quilt? Am I chartreuse or mauve, or a mix of rainbow and Rothko.

Does a body ever feel true?

Is my imagination big enough to conceive myself in one compact visual form?

What if I don’t want a body at all.

What if the design of my body is notes in a score, words on a page, traces I leave behind.

To design my own body is to have faith in others’ ability to see, to believe that I will be witnessed with curiosity, compassion and grace.

To design my own body would be to know myself enough to give it form.