I saw someone, two grades older than me in the halls with a purple shirt.
He was tall and had a huge grin and a loud laugh.
I heard the boy in the purple shirt had an B in Spanish
And a D in chemistry
And an A in foreplay.
I thought maybe he's had more than one girlfriend in the past few weeks.
At school he tells me he likes my shirt. Then turns around and tells another girl he likes her ***.
I realized then I wanted to be him. Because the girl was probably going to **** him, and not me.
What does he have that I don't.
Chin fuzz, a reverberating voice, broad shoulders, a ****.
That night I did one hundred push ups. That night I cried for one hundred minutes.
And slept for what seemed like one hundred hours.
When my morning comes my chest aches. When my morning comes my chest is still chesty.
When his morning comes his chest is occupied by a girl's head.
When his morning comes he let's go of a morning *** on his purple shirt.
On his purple sheets.
On the girl's purple cheeks.
He remembers someone, she is two grades younger than him.
She is small and has sad lips and a quiet sigh.
She has an F in math, and an F in history, and an F in foreplay.
He told her he liked her shirt, because he really did, because it wasn't purple, because it wasn't his, because it made her look strong. It made her look like a man. He then realized that he liked the color blue better, and liked the way it looked on her.

What my body needs to say...
"Relax, things won't always be this way."
"...But what if they are?"
"Then we get through it. Our feet still walk where we need to go, our eyes still see the sun, our ears still listen and hear the positivity above the hate...relax, our skin feels the sun and the touch or him, and our lips can still smile. I promise, I'm becoming you just give me some more time. These scars will fade and become a distant memory but our journey will not end. You're okay, we're okay.. just hold on a little longer."

My voice
Was the highest soprano in the choir
And I was well past puberty.
My chest may never be
As flat as yours,
My shoulders will always be
Slimmer and daintier,
My waist tucks in and allows for
Hips,
Hips that make me cringe with every ******* breath
Some days.

I will never have
That bulge between my legs
That you so wrongly call manhood.

I lack the things you tell me
Make someone a boy,
And sometimes I even lack the guts
To disagree with you;
But **** if that makes it alright to throw me in gutters,
Beat me up behind smokey dive bars,
Yell at me on the city bus,
Take away my ******* humanity.

Because I am a boy.
I am a ******* human.

Often he feels as if he killed her. she was a daughter, a sister, niece, granddaughter, Aunt and a girlfriend.
No longer is she any of those things because she became him.
Now he is a son, brother, nephew, grandson, uncle and boyfriend.
She left behind a life for him, a life he now lives.
He lived inside her for too long and now he is free but many still see him as he used to be.
They see him as her but he is not her, he is just him.
So now he feels trapped, how could he explain that he is not her?
It's like her stole her life and who she used to be, which leads him to often believe that he killed her.