When you meet a person the first instinct is to know their name,
A proper noun to represent them as a whole,
A name can define you,
And make you a person, not just a being.
So when people ask my name, why is it that I am so pained to admit it?
The name I was given at birth,
my dear loving parent had picked out so carefully from all the rest,
why must it hurt so much to admit?
Why can't I appreciate my name?
Why don't It feel like it is my name?

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, you're weak, I can tell, so cry on your knees

"Such a pretty name" they say,
"It suits you so well" they say,
But it makes me sick to my stomach,
I just want to hurl those letters into oblivion,
A garbled mess from which I can reform who I am.
Reform my name.
And my father wonders why I wear thick jumpers in the summer,
My mother looks concerned when she sees my lack of breath,
From the construction of the 4 sports bras on my chest.
And from her lips slips that horrid name.
And it's like I can breathe even less.

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, you're weak, I can tell, so beg in your knees

My aunt wonders why I cut my pretty hair,
My grandad thinks it's weird that I won't wear a dress,
I don't get why "God" is angry when clearly it's just them,
I thought he taught us to love each other?
Does this rule not apply to me?
"A loving daughter" yeah right;
Just you wait and see.

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, disgusting, revolting, now spout me your plea.

My sister tries to be supportive but I can tell she doesn't get it,
My mother doesn't mention it,
My father hardly looks at me.
But they don't understand the joy I felt,
When I took that first injection.
My hormones set on fire,
My blood set a light,
And for once in my life-
My body started to feel right.

My name is dysphoria, you should answer to me, disgusting, revolting, a girl in boys clothing.

And yeah, my family might not use my new name,
But it's on my driver's license,
My passport,
My soul,
And finally I was excited to introduce myself to people.
Finally I was happy to exist,
I was happy to be me-
A boy at last.
With a real name: Rory.

i remember when we met on the belfast shore
it gave me such a feeling i never felt before
i fell in love with you. when i saw your face
you sent the soul in me to a different place.

with your long blonde hair and your so eyes blue
i knew from that moment. i fell in love with you
as we strolled together along the belfast shore
with each step we took. i just loved you more.

i wont forget the feelings that i had inside
made me feel so happy. filled my heart with pride
life it felt so good like its meant to be
filled my heart with love set my spirit free

i fell in love with you. when i saw your face
you sent the soul in me to a different place
i knew from that moment. you were meant for me
in love forever more we will always be

i wont forget the night on the belfast shore
the feelings that i had i never had before
when i held your hand. i just loved you more
has we strolled together along the belfast shore

I stay up waiting
for the sun to rise,
only to be
hypnotized
watching the
moon stride
across the speckled
night sky.

In the cold, dark
        of January,
         I remembered
              you
        the most.
  As the chill
      snapped bones
              like branches,
     as the afternoons
   bathed themselves
in gray,
     as the birds
and the backs
      shook,
so did my lips
   around your name.
I'm so happy
     January is almost
over now.

but i guess we're always
going to be lonely;
and maybe that's just
what it means to be
truly alive.

Why is poetry dying
when we still have the gift?
If we still have water
then we still have a ship.
We can sail to the places
these words take us.
We are still shaken
by the words that make us.
Why should we let poetry die
when there is so much to explore?
If only people read it
and discovered more.

In my room,
Mindlessly scrolling,
to my doom.
Endlessly rolling
down the hill
of depression.
Constantly feeling ill
and not worth of self expression.