I just changed my HP description thing
From female to gender questioning
I don’t know why the hell that’s so scary
But yesterday
I really did not feel like a girl

Why does having food in my stomach
Feel like I failed

I’ve been through enough
to know silence can be louder than screams.
Enough to know
“I'm fine” usually means
I'm not.

I’ve had nights
where the weight got heavy,
but I held it anyway.
No applause.
No witness.
Just me
and the dark
playing tug-of-war with my peace.

But I never let go.
Even when I wanted to.

There’s a version of me
I used to mourn
the one before the heartbreak,
before the trust got shattered,
before I learned
people only love you
when it's easy.

Now I move slower,
but wiser.
I speak less,
but mean more.
I lost some friends,
but I found my spine.

The ink on my hand
ain’t decoration
it’s declaration.
Proof I’ve made it this far,
even if the road
was more cuts than comfort.

I don’t expect perfect anymore.
Just real.
Just effort.
Just peace that don’t ask me
to shrink to fit inside it.

I’m not healed,
but I’m healing.
Not fearless,
but brave.
Still got days
where I look in the mirror
and ask,
“Am I really built for this?”

And every time,
my reflection answers,
“You really are.”

I’m never kidding,
When I say I need humbling.
Life goes too good for too long,
I get too popular winning at too much,
That I forget what it feels like to lose out,
And I risk everything.
It’s so silly,
Complaining about succeeding,
But sometimes I miss the days I wasn’t on the radar yet.
Because now that I have so much,
My vision is fogged by greed,
I forget how to treat the people that brought me here.
I never learn,
Until I lay askew and burnt,
When my luck runs out.

It’s not magic.

I saw the smoke from the mountains,
Early in the morning sun,
Billowing deep from the trees,
Where the great mountain beast once was.

I saw the smoke from Paul Bunion’s cabin,
Rolling up into the sky,
So when I climb up there tomorrow,
I’ll bring him a great big pie.

Up to the trees I go,
Further north where fresh water flows.
Travel preparations with my heart aching,
Home is where I’m free,
Left alone just to be.
Not in this gloomy place,
Not within this heat wave.
Like a pioneer,
I pack my bags,
Leaving behind the places I know,
In search of the places,
Where I’ll grow.

Dear Algebra,
Please stop asking us
To find your X.
She has left
And she will never return,
And don't ask Y.

-Anonymous