the homeless are ******* in the streets,
well some of them are

the homeless have been ******* in the streets
a lot lately

when they are not getting scatological on the streets of seattle
they are conjuring the other images of themselves, because there is always so much more to this story
as they sit on the sidewalk and/or in entrances of shops, restaurants, and other commercial establishments
throwing empty beer cans in the street
at the people walking past

they say seattle is going to be the next san francisco
because that is what tech is, nothing new
forgotten already done ideas redone
same price tags same coast line same **** in the streets

they must have thought something better
was here, waiting for them
when they rode into town
from other towns
housing, more drugs, a new life
in these streets that they **** in

not sure what they heard
their tents under the over pass
their trash upon the hill
overlooking the highway

their tents always have a highway view
their trash too

i should be that afraid of my own life
of what tomorrow will be
oversharing in a voice
that is not my own
miss jean brodie in **** city style

Today, I typed into my Google search bar
“How to stop being trans.”

I am so desperately attempting to repress my identity I felt the need to Google it,
I spend day in, and day out, watching women on the internet talk about what it is like to be a woman.
Even now, that concept confuses me.

There is something I will never truly understand about being a woman-
That is the feeling of being female.
It’s something I’ve never really had, even though I go through those hardships and more.
I am talked about like I am an object, referred to as “it” by so many kids at this school,
Just as many of the transgender students going to my school are.

I am treated physically like an object whenever I attempt to present as a woman,
And I realize there is no way to go around being an “it.”
Nothing more than a mere object used for someones entertainment,
Thrown away when they have gotten their thrill out of me.
I am nothing more than a cancelled TV show
Who’s reruns are on at midnight, or early Sunday morning.

I am nothing more than the little wooden toys toddlers play with,
Thought of as ‘cute’ when young,
But told I am to grow out of the phase of playing with toys.
Told to grow out of the phase of being a boy.

No matter how short I cut my hair, or how tight the binders I wear are,
How baggy the jeans, or how many button-ups or flannels I buy,
I am told it is just a phase.

I have been fighting with my identity in the open for nearly five years.
First, it was an internet presence,
I learned the word “genderfluid.”
I used that term for a good three months,
And then I found a new word.
“Agender.”

I was agender for years,
Even somewhat out at the school I went to-
In the fifth grade, I was asked what I truly was.
This question is going to be repeated until the day I die.

In seventh grade, something fully dawns on me.
I am nothing more than a transgender boy with an affinity for putting art on my face.
I panic as I tell the four people I had in my arsenal at the time.
Thus begins the era of “Brodie.”

This lasts for a few months, until I am uncomfortable with the name.
I finally, for two years, settle on the name “Alexander,”
And then, at the end of eighth grade, I am ready to come out to teachers.

No one is able to keep up with it, because it had been at the very end,
But as I start my highschool career, I confidently call out,
“I prefer Alexander.”

The people in my old band class don’t really think twice, but a small murmur falls through the crowd of the homophobes in the corner.
My German teacher opens the idea with wide arms, and takes me under her wing.
I become her son.
I start pondering a new name in the last month of the first year, twisting it over my tongue.
“Julian.”
I like the way it sounds, but no one thinks it fits me.
I sigh, and repress the name until nearly the very middle of my sophomore year.

In my freshman year, I had once Googled the same question.
It has been a year of attempting to repress it on my own.
Google Search still does not give me an answer.

I realize that I am nothing more than a transgender boy.

I can’t help somebody who thinks, or thinks he thinks, that editing a newspaper is censorship, or that throwing bricks is a demonstration while building tower blocks is social violence, or that unpalatable statement is provocation while disrupting the speaker is the exercise of free speech... Words don’t deserve that kind of malarkey. They’re innocent, neutral, precise, standing for this, describing that, meaning the other, so if you look after them you can build bridges across incomprehension and chaos. But when they get their corners knocked off, they’re no good any more, and Brodie (a character in the play, a would be writer) knocks their corners off. I don’t think writers are sacred, but words are. They deserve respect. If you get the right ones in the right order, you can nudge the world a little or make a poem which children will speak for you when you’re dead.

Drones are UFO
UFO ain't real bro
Stop lying to me you're fake Brodie how come you say what you won't ***
She's hot man just hit One!!
You gay dawg I know huh..
It's okay bro you like butts
They stole the rainbow from Noah's Flood and they hang on it like Pride umm..
You should shut up zeal YOU don't know nothing
You're a Doom & Gloom so please back up..
Why do they hate me when I'm trying save someone?

Eight, Three, Zero
Lighted flares, all directions streaming
Atmosphere exultant, saw not an opportunity for askewness
Waved banners, displayer of the iconic

Blue, White, Red
For the breeze ruffled these shades
Gallantly proclaiming, alas, the Republic
Dassault Rafale, engines roaring ahead

Nine, Zero, Zero
A precipitous shift in mood
The cheers were different, in fact
Almost as if fading

White, White, White
The vehicle shifts its gear
The man’s foot unforgivingly pressed on acceleration
Ploughing through, snowplow through ice

One, One, Two
They dial, no longer are
Their shouts for some celebratory cause
Tucked under the rubber, eternal slumber

Four, Score, Four
Young and free, they were not exempt
Fatimah, Jean, Brodie, Christianne
A lone rider, forlorn in cessation

Fourteen, Seven, Sixteen
A new motivation for commemoration
Juncture of remembrance
For the bravest hearts

Liberté, égalité, fraternité
Kept in *******, a formidable bulwark
War wages forth, yet for the Hexagon
We weep.

You see it is hard when you
do something wrong and suddenly nobody wants you to help people nobody wants you to be nice to people either
You see lately on home and away John wanted to help the burns unit after he started the recent bush fires and I grabbed a kid and I teased a little girl and I arranged a disco where nobody turned up well a few people were there but for me
It was hard and I started getting crazy and I really wanted to reform myself well I wasn't really reformed but I felt everyone was out to get me
Well grabbing a kid and teasing a little girl is bad but really I was unmedicated, or on medication that wasn't right for me
But I started to hear voices of people teasing me every time
I look like a kid
I wanted to be there for the kids but with my past they don't accept me into this community
Like anything I do isn't good enough, I was really upset and I felt so bad but I still wanted to arrange events or be apart of events to help people
I went to do the BBQ for the magpies  and I joined the kanga cup where it only lasted 2 years
Because I wasn't good at it
I was great at the masters games where I was helping get the glass from the ground but I helped in other areas but still the kids were teasing me and my mind was playing tricks on me when I worked at the hockey I felt the world was out to get me, and from that moment I said I want out of this helping life and I stuck with playing Santa Claus where a girl said I was fake and the BBQ was the best place for me but as I got the new kippax oval gig
People started treating me like a piece of meat but I like doing the BBQ at the footy but then I started to lose weight and I was working and I was having fun because people were nice to me and I was running everywhere and joined the Mother's Day classic to raise money for breast cancer
I went to Adelaide twice and I went to the carols in the domain
And I partied at the Merimbula
And then I got a new job and I met them on the road and I went to the psych ward again and I felt awful and then I went to the baseball in Sydney and dad died and I joined the badslamnobiscuit poetry slam
Where I became very popular and I was talking to every university student there it was fun I went to my second theatrical play and all the Coke I drank with that I became fat and I watched YouTube family vlogs and drinking coke and eating chips and chocolate and strawberry milk and popcorn and then I did some thinking and now I am doing three art groups as well as going to holistic health group to try and lose my junk food spare tyre and because of my past home and away lately has been very emotional what with Brodie and John I wasn't on drugs but I was angry and John being hated by the people of summer bay and he wanted to prove himself just like me
The only helping I do is give money to homeless people which I can't all the time but sometimes I can and I give money to beyond blue mental health cause my name is Brian Allan and i have schitzophrenia
Even neighbours catches my emotions with toadie and Sonya
And despite all the times I fought dad I really want to say
I do miss his loving life ways
And I do love life mate