Neither girl nor male… So what am I? Am I the so-called perv aiming to invade the wrong bathroom? Am I a heretic aiming to impose my wickedness onto the world? Am I the clocking stares they give me? How about the result of a broken home or a broken heart? Does my mere existence force you to reevaluate your identity? When all I'm trying to do is figure out mine. Neither girl nor male… So you tell me where I am to relieve my bowels. Or am I to stitch them shut for your comfort? While I'm at it, shall I stitch my eyes shut as to not burden you with running mascara; which further assaults my "feminine façade"? I'm sorry to burden you with my fake *****, of which a second of labor (turning your head) would relieve you of your distress. I'm sorry you'd rather slave away starring and clocking them. Clocking me. I am sorry that I was born male yet refuse to live up to such expectations. I am sorry that despite my best efforts I cannot pass for how I feel. Believe me—for the life of me—I am trying. As punishment for lack of natural *******, I stretch my skin to form a pleasing cleavage. As punishment for having the wrong body type, I wear a cage around my abdomen two sizes too small that cuts into my rib cage dare I seek the comforts of sitting down. As punishment for being born with a male anatomy, I crunch my disheveled sack of nerve endings between my chaffing thighs. Dare my body have the audacity to ***** itself for any reason I bend the muscle, in such a way never intended, between my legs just to have one less aesthetic reminder as to what I am not. Your clocking stares painfully remind me that I may never be seen as how I see myself. But ****** do I try. Until I do, I am condemned to be neither male nor… female.

Scarlet-haired maiden. Blood-soaked kitten. Our history once bled from my veins. May the ink from my pen be the last drop to leak from my stitches. I have cursed, I have blasphemed, and for what? You are as blind as ever as to what I am saying. It is as if those crows finally got around to doing my bidding. Scarlet-haired maiden, I am but a Jester to call you so. Calling you a maiden is a folly no less disastrous as calling a Siren a fish. Blood-soaked kitten, you dare call yourself such a familiar? Call your fat self a, "Little" in search of a father figure? Hark… You're but a beast rolling around in lovers' blood. Licking the sweet nectar off your soft and welcoming fur. Had I  not known better I'd reach down to the pits of hell just to pet you. I'd risk your curious claws getting at my loose thread. Sadly… I am but a Jester…I lead you back to our old tree. Our shrine where Gaia herself guarded our love. Where I gave you my heart in the form of an odd pedaled flower. To this day, I dare not to let a white Jasmine flower offend my nostrils. Its sour scent will begrudgingly throw me back to sweet—fleeting—moments. Moments where I had you play the "Loves-Me-Not" game whilst utterly ignoring the warning sign of the very NAME of said game. Moments where I was unaware of the very games you were playing.

I would be amiss
Iffen I were to dismiss
What a seemless bliss


What a lie is this
To pretend that I don't miss
Our soft and gentle....


Silence on my lips
Though my heart's Gaurd lay remiss
A good man's premiss


My soul beckons, "Bis"
I guess what I'm saying is
Wonderful was our....

Will a Phoenix doused in water reignite?
Should the Sun ever disturb the night?
As my eyes take their rest my mind takes flight
Then quickly plummets straight into blight
Straight into sorrow; reigniting my rage
And keeps me awake as if it were day
Awake to write my story/Awake to dwell on the last page
How dare I wallow over someone engaged?
Great Leviathan, Demon God of water and life
Lend me your strength as I overcome this strife
Baptize me in your waters and revitalize my sight
Clear away all the salt and callus to turn my scleras white
Drown the anger in my heart; cease its return!
**** the Phoenix, for its presence burns!
Drown the Sun so that the moon may take its turn
Allow my brain to rest so that I may have the capacity learn
How to fully move on…

Conceived at night, tomorrow be mourn
Still and quiet, Wretch's babe be born
Hex for hex, curse for curse
The Witch's undoing shall be the worst
May my friend Aim pay a visit
May his screams be exquisite
Father of dog food, husband of a Harlot
Miraculous keeper of her loose undergarments
May his eyes boil and his organs char
Mere punishment for her promiscuous charm
Child and homeless, she'll wonder through the dark
Mere atonement for my aching heart

Doth drinketh thine darkest drink
No cream no sugar
And thine legs make haste
No wait no niceties
For if not, the poison shall leak from thine ******
But at least you'll be awake through it all

Tyler Castro
3/20/17

Turn the lights off so that I may know you
In this safe space, I invite you to indulge in our mutual vulnerability
Feel protection in my arms as I guard your heart
As I keep it warm between our chests
Set your gaze to mine while you share with me your aspirations
I yearn to experience them through the windows to your soul
Share with me your fears so that I may put them to rest
May this bed be a holy and sacred place for us
May this bed be our confession booth free from ridicule
May this bed be a tithing basket for you to receive love with no boundaries
In this bed, allow divine pleasure to overwhelm you
Let your ****** match the depth of your trust
Let your tears turn to sweat that trickles down the valley of your spine
Let your ****** fluids baptize you; cleanse you of any guilt
Share with me your spiritual awakening
As I receive communion with your raw, unfiltered, liquified emotion running down your body
Toss out your bible, for the only religious text I need is your diary
Allow me to tie every inch of your glorious body to a memory
I wish not to ****, but to love
I wish to fulfill all your fetishistic urges
For I know they are tied to a psychological yearning
By the end of the night I wish to know every inch of your flesh
I want the knowledge to be accompanied by the memories that make you, you
And if I fail, there's always round two after we cuddle

Tyler Castro
3/19/17

.

Scribbles on a page and sound that emits from the very lips I use to kiss have the power to be much more.
When the right words are in place they can make a lover's heart race, pumping oxygen to the brain so that the body won't collapse from being breathless.
My gentle heart beats to the rhythm of rain cascading down my beloved's face.
Words are a soft vibration that graces the eardrums and shakes the water free from her eyes' clenching grasp.
Words are the vibration we feel when the concrete walls we onced used for protection come crumbling down.
The Earth shakes beneath our feet as the war-hardened barricade fails—it becomes impossible to stand.
She grabs my hand as if for balance then holds it close to her heart.
Words are a vibration that puts to shame god's orchestra of a thousand angels playing a thousand violins in harmony.
The words become a symphony of their own, fine tuned for my lover's ear, moving us into a safe haven in one another's embrace where our softer halves can become whole again.

Tyler Castro
12/1/16