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Azurel Mar 2019
Fingernails clack on
Piano keys, yellow teeth
Sour milk on marble...
Azurel Mar 2019
Dysphoria, what does it feel like?
They sigh, trying to find a single sentence for years of caged silence.

Identity: Female
Stuck in the wrong way
To me it’s a sense of nothing will ever be right
The feeling of being in extreme danger
Like you’re about to die

Identity: Male
All I can say is
This isn’t me
The feeling is a long and windy explanation of
There are things about me that I don’t associate with myself
And it’s weird and confusing
When I become aware of them

Identity: ****. A drag queen? Trans fluid.
It's a lot like,
An itch
Like a really itchy sweater,
You can’t take it off
And the longer you have to wear it the worse it gets
You start to hate yourself because
You’re the one that put the sweater on in the first place

They say we are ill

It’s not correct

When they say it’s their right to say those
That’s when I get mad

If there is no way to make the mind conform to the body
You must make the body conform to the mind

If they think it’s their right to tell other people that their identity is wrong,
Then they are ill and broken
They have no f**king clue
And I know,
I can’t tell them they’re wrong
Without telling them why
But I realize
Explaining this is futile
With closed minded people

Bathrooms need to change, Health care needs to change, Identification needs to change
People are forced to “pick one”
Trans-phobia shouldn’t be tolerated
Mental health care shouldn’t be because it’s a “defect”
Social pressure, Internalized oppression, Abuse,
Politicians have got it the wrong way around
One in two transgender persons have experienced ****** assault
One. In. Two.
They say, “We don’t want men undercover spying on our women and children”
You think they are in there to spy or ****?
Name more than two cases in the last 25 years
Where a transgender person has sexually abused a woman in the ladies bathroom
You can’t
But give me five minutes, and I can come up with five to eight names of transgender people
That have been assaulted in bathrooms since 2019 started

But our Pride cannot be destroyed
It’s our strength
A feeling of belonging
A belief that we can change this

We are not alone.

We Are Not Alone.

This is a poem written from the words of transgender people in my school. It is written for all who don’t understand who we are and all who wish to be understood. Please listen.
Azurel Jan 2019
Pretty boy,
You remind me of snowdrops in summer,
Skin as soft as their petals
Smile warm enough to melt my February snow
Giving way for your little flowers to grow.
Pretty boy,
You taste sweet
Like milk dancing in morning coffee,
Which lingers on my tongue when I think of you.
And a little spicy
Like dark chocolate
With a pinch of salt and cayenne
Pretty boy,
In your eyes I see a blue moon's craters
A silky sky with cotton candy clouds,
And maybe little white sailboats lost at sea,
Trying to find the edge of the world...
If only they knew that there was no such thing as an end to you.
Pretty boy,
Did I ever tell you
Your body is my favorite work of art,
A masterpiece really,
Of undying renaissance beauty
With curves and edges that I could trace for eternity.
That the sound of your voice is like waking up in misty sunshine
Wearing nothing but warm sheets
Or that your laugh rivals a warm breeze rustling through the trees in late July.
Pretty boy,
It would be foolish to pluck you simply for your beauty,
And watch as your petals begin to shrivel,
And even more absurd to think that
Snowdrops don't belong in the wild.
Pretty boy, will you be mine for awhile?
Azurel Dec 2018
A boy with dimples had the same dream.
To live wild amongst rivers and forests and gentle beasts,
With sunlight as our clothes and berry juice on our toes,
Pretty moss growing in the hills and valleys of our ****** landscapes.
We dreamed of a place where time did not exist,
Traveling in painted buses,
Humming to the song of a soft kiss.
We dreamed of making love in canoes covered in a blanket of mist,
Arms pinned against dewy forest beds,
Giggling under orchards of peaches and cherries.
The blood between our legs would not be sin,
Watering the ground under our feet where all the gentle beasts had been.
I wished to trace the mountains on his skin as we lay in a meadow of wild flowers.
Sleeping by the fire, watching sparks turn into stars,
Spellbound by full moon dances,
Living in a world of musical silence
Stripped of our flesh, our beautiful human disguise.
A boy with dimples had the same dream.
About you, pretty boy.
Azurel Nov 2018
He was pale as death,
running down like an over-wound clock
Beneath his eyes,
dark signs of sleeplessness tumbled short of his dreams.
The pale gold odor of his lips,
Parted with a series of beginnings.
He was confounded with wonder at her presence
That voice held him most
Swathed in rose and lavender silk
The darker, well-kept expanse of his suppressed eagerness blazed with light.
His eyes,
a deep tropical burn,
on fire like the World’s Fair
remotely possessed by intense life
like a trembling match
stained with creative passion

He searched for her night and day
The exhilarating ripple of her voice was a wild tonic rain
a deathless song
a faint flow of thunder
he followed the sound of it into the thick folds of the sky.
her well-loved eyes,
smeared with tears,
glistening drops smashed into pieces on the floor
Standing in a puddle of mid-summer flowers
Bright ecstatic smile on the edge of pouring rain
Its fluctuating, feverish warmth,
full of aching grieving beauty,
told of unexpected joy
Are you in love with me?
Found poem from The Great Gatsby
Azurel Nov 2018
You used to tell me that beautiful things come from pain and adversity.
Like motherhood, unconditional love, and true stories.
As I stood in the middle of a room painted white,
Staring at the remains of rolling hills burned to black,
I saw you staring back at me.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Shining against your bones
Velvet black
You’ve changed
And changed and changed
Yet your love still remains
Burnt fields like black panther fur
Whiskers are the needles on a compass
Always pointing to the azure sky
You used to sing when I cried
Rolling your r’s over rrolling hills
A haunting melody startling black birds into the night
Feathered constellations against a sliver moon
And lips pressed to my salty cheeks

You told me that your favorite skin tone was chocolate,
As you laid out in the sun hoping to melt. “A quarter black” is what you say when you want to feel proud,
Even as you tell me stories of how your mother was called negrita,
The girl who stood too dark amongst the crowd.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Black like the broken wings of mothers before you
Who had hands with scars from cotton seeds
And blue veins like uprooted trees
Stretching all the way to their tired knees
Burnt fields like black panther fur
You criticize your aging beauty
Speaking in envy of the color gold
Like you are a broken bowl in need of kintsugi
Yet silver snakes still slither
Over the pebbled river beds of your black curls
Dripping down the small of your back
Until they reach the base of your ivory spine
Burnt fields like black panther fur
You criticize your aging beauty
Because you never thought
Cocoa lips and sun spots painted on sculpted clay that never cracks
Could ever look as stunning as it does on you

You told me that it is better to speak my truth then tell pretty lies.
So I told you mine and you cried,
And cried and cried.
But look where we are now,
Standing beside each other with the same eyes,
Just different reflections.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Tongue like a sword set ablaze
Tempered in pools of milk and honey
Blood red sun grazing the tops of your eyelids
Still reminiscent of those in old photographs
Where you saw the little girl you search for in me
Burnt fields like black panther fur
I am sorry I made you cry
But even when our backs are turned
We are still
Black birds singing in the dead of night
Thank you mama for my broken wings.
Inspired by a photograph of a burnt field that I saw in an art gallery. For my mom.
Azurel Oct 2018
Clouds like elephant skin,
And palaces of cotton candy,
Seats snoring softly,
As music wanders in a maze of
Honey thoughts and melancholy
Warm breath making hearts in the window,
Overlooking a sparkling sea,
As I dream of wings carved from glass
Searching for eyes to find me.
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