I'm cool.
You're cool.
We're cool
It's cool.

We're cool.
It's cool.
I'm cool.
You're cool.

"Hey dude,
you alright in there?"

"Yea man,
it's cool."

It's 3:09am
I'm im the library
Desperately trying to write a research paper:
'LGBT Familes'
How fitting.
Caffeine courses through my veins
Coffee overloads my bladder
Bathroom.
I hate bathrooms.

When you have no gender
The simple act of relieving yourself becomes a chore
The heavy weight of that key decision
Chokes your lungs as you stand outside the doors
Two doors.
Men.
Women.
Not me.

The choice becomes simplified:
While I sometimes pass as a man
I often do not.
I can choose the men's bathroom
The consequence of which could end in physical violence
The same hate I explain through my essay.
The same fear that plagues my community.

The women's restroom is also an option
The consequences likely less dire than the former:
Heavy side eye and the potential of yelling.
A much safer choice.
Obviously.

Per usual, I walk into the women's room.
I take three strides inside.
Then I stop.

I've never used the men's room.
My fear of violent reactions has always won.
Yet at a time like this
How likely is it that someone is inside the men's room?

Now is my chance to face my fears.
Now I have a safe chance at peeing in peace.
In a bathroom potentially more suiting
Of my gender identity
So I turn around.
Let the door slam behind me.

Half a step into the men's room
The smell of rancid ***** hits my senses
Toilet paper liters the stalls
I have missed absolutely nothing in my years in the women's room

Women have nicer facilities
A significantly more advanced hand dryer
Cleanliness
Air freshener
Men do not have these luxuries

Now I question,
Do men not take as good of care of their bathrooms as women do?
Do the workers intentionally prioritize women's sanitation?
What causes this undeniable divide?
Is the messiness of the men's room a result of their conscious decisions?
Or simply a response to societal expectation?

Regardless,
I think I'll stick to the women's room
While I add bathrooms to my compilation
Of more discrete gender inequality

Pure white,
A flash of gold.
An angel truly fallen.
She found me.
I twist my head, hair tossing.
I glimpse the saddest scene.
Her majesty.
Her purity
Enveloped in a grayscale.
I see your broken wing, love,
But it never kept you from loving.
Your compassion inspires me.
Are you here to guide me?
A blood red that stains porcelain skin,
Deepest scars that tear apart the heart.
Yet she found me,
Asiding her tragedy,
To show me the light.
A flash of gold,
And the purest white
I've ever seen.

Every day I give up a little bit more.
I see the end so certainly.
There's nothing else to really live for.
It becomes easier to let go,
As I sit here alone
Writing about what I've wanted
And being worn of wanting more.
                                                           ­           Every day it gets a little easier
                                                          ­             To take another step forward.
                                                  Whethe­r or not I fall apart the later night,
                                                          ­           I still got through another day.
                                                            ­        I walk into a direction in which
                                                           ­                                 I can be proud of.
                                                             ­                 I have so much to live for.
                                                                   I've to keep opening new doors.
But I can't go without;
I can't lose it all again.
The pain is too much and it feels as if
I'd rather have nothing at all,
But the silence of death.
I would die where no one could see;
No one could know.
                                                  Every day I find love for the littler things.
                                            I appreciate so much more than I had before.
                                                         ­              I find brilliance in your smile.
                                                          ­   And I find motivation in your fight.
                                                          ­                 And inspiration in my soul,
                                                           ­                      So I keep taking control
                                                                ­            Of what I know I could be.
The world grows blacker every day.
People feel further and further away.
I used to belong--
I thought I did, anyway.
I never did though, and I know this the most.
I just wish I had chosen a better path so, so long ago.
Because people will not choose for you,
And it's okay if I go it alone.
                                                          ­       The sunrise still wakes me gently
                                                         And the small sound of your tugging.
                                                        ­                   I raise to a voice calling me.
                                                             ­                   When I go to it, I belong.
                                                         ­ Then I see the people around me too.
                                                         They've been waving this whole time.
                                                           ­         I didn't think it'd be so easy for
                                                                ­ The sleep to break from my eyes.
But the nights are the blackest of all.
I hear nothing but my thoughts.
They shake my shoulders violently.
They tell me, "Nothing is true
Nothing is sacred
Nothing is here for you."
And I am not here for anything.
The nightmares follow just the same.
                                                           ­              The morning still follows;
                                                        ­                      The sun will still come.
There is no love in those mornings,
But I am still here.
                                                           ­              The morning still follows.
But it does not matter anymore.
I can't be anything than what I am.
I cannot try anymore.
                                                        ­             But the morning still follows...
                                                      ­                                  And I am still here.

Whenever I'm on a train platform, no matter how far from the edge, I feel as if I will fall on the tracks.

little old bald-headed tree
stretches bare branches
into the sky,
drawing the universe
into its veins
to live again
come spring.