If I had a superpower, I would choose the ability to shapeshift. Not because I want to soar through the clouds as a red-tailed hawk or burrow through the ground as a badger; I don't want to disguise myself as an object or sneak into places people wouldn't usually go; not even for the scientific discoveries that could happen on a microscopic and macroscopic level. But instead I would choose it because my hips have always been a little bit too wide, my hair a little bit to straight, my face a bit too feminine. My skin is too ruddy, my stomach too soft, my legs too pale and scarred. My chest brings me terrible dysphoria, to the point that I save up for surgery with every paycheck, despite my fear and reluctance to even get my blood drawn. The mystery of what rests between my legs brings arguments, and hatred, and even political discourse. Despite it being my own, my body is constantly up for debate; whether or not I should exist is questioned because of the way I was built. I would choose shapeshifting not for my amusement, but because I was born in a body that others use to misread me and puts me at risk.