I am a book.
But not the type of book you eagerly pick up and open the first page anticipating excitement and wonder.
I am the book that sits on the bottom of the library shelf, eventually accumulating dust.
The one that occasionally gets picked up, but soon put back down because the cover looks boring, or you think the story will be stupid and monotonous.

I am that book that no one recommends.
The one that is literally forgotten, just waiting to be welcomed into oblivion.
The few people that picked up my book made me hope they wanted to read my story.
But they did not.
They only wanted to rip out my pages.

You all know what I am talking about.
You all know that one book you eventually pick up one day.
Not because you wanted to,
but because you were either forced to by your english teacher, or because you were alone and needed something to do.
I am the book that you cringe when you look at the first page, feeling that it is going to be a long and painful read.
Yeah, that is me.

But then you finally read the first page.
Then chapter.
Then another.
You get to experience every aspect of the book.
The joy.
The loss.
The love.
The sadness.
As you go on, the book turns out to be something amazing.
That book you thought you knew, you never knew at all.
It made you test your mind in ways you never thought a book could.
It made you feel an inexplicable love for it.
It made you wonder why you never picked up the book earlier.

I am the book you think you’ll hate reading.
The book that’s gonna sit here waiting to be opened
and hoping to be liked for who I am and not what I look like.
I am the book that looks like nothing special.
But I promise you.
When you open the first page.
And read a few chapters.
You’ll discover…. Something truly beautiful.

I look into the mirror, not wanting to see.
Who I am, but what I could be.
A girl to the world, a boy at heart.
A girl from the womb, a boy from the start.

"Be proud of who you are"
That's what they say.
But how can I be proud,
When  my body causes me dismay?

"You'll never be a boy."
They shout at me.
"Then I'll never be happy."
I guess it's meant to be.

I come to my room,
my chest stained red.
I cut myself open,
just to see the dead ends.

For I still have a heart,
and I still have a soul.
But i'll never be a boy.
That's all I've been told.