forty-eight hours is a long time to wear a binder,
and my ribs are screaming for mercy,
for a break from the compression and lack of mobility.
but it's not that easy.

sometimes i'd rather face the pain,
than face the fact that i am female.
these weights on my chest,
drag me to the ground.
i break down.

i feel locked in my body,
and all i want to do is break free.
nobody should feel the need to shower in the dark,
because the reality of their body is too much for them.
it shouldn't be this way

and i know i shouldn't compare myself to people,
but i cannot stop thinking,
'what if i were cis'.
i think of how much easier everything would be.
i wouldn't have to worry over how long i've been wearing my binder,
or if i pass,

i wouldn't have to worry about turning eighteen,
knowing i will be homeless.
but instead, my mother would celebrate her baby,
becoming a "legal adult."

forty-eight hours wouldn't be a worrying statement,
just another frame of time,
it wouldn't reflect on my self-care routines,
or lack thereof

it'd just be forty-eight hours.

What are you looking at young child?
The two boys kissing over there?
It's fine. I promise. Love is love!
And the two girls holding hands?
That's ok too. Love is love after all.
No need to argue.
What are you looking at, kid?
The single dad with children of his own?
Smiling at their father as does other children?
He does his best, he works hard and never wants to let them down
He's a good dad in my opinion.
Yes, a very handsome one too.
What are you looking at?
The mother who tries to make her child smile?
Oh the child! I see he's wearing pink.
And is that eye shadow? Oh she did it well, his mum did.
Oh and her daughter! Oh she looks cute in blue jeans.
And I love that blue shirt on her.
Oh those two! The ones who like rock music
Wear leather jackets, spikes, tattoos, piercings and black
Yet they're the kindest couple on earth.
Is all this bothering you child?
You shouldn't need to worry. They're all good people, all very nice.
They're all human inside.
Give them a smile dear!
That's it.

They preach about pride
“Pride is a sin!”
People nod obediently
“Two men kissing is a sin!”
A few more obedient nods

WHAT ARE WE?
Slaves? Do we obey all the things
That a silly old book says
To get to a place most probably
Will never see
Since they’ve committed just one
ONE SIN?

Two men kissing
Sounds harmless as a butterfly
Two girls kissing
Sweet as sugar

It’s fine to be yourself
Boy, girl, both or none
It’s accepted in the animal kingdom
Why not the human one?
Are you scared of a book?
A book that controls how you act
How you talk, speak, pray?

Have pride everyone!
Have pride in yourself!
Who you are!
Who you want to be!
BECAUSE SOMEONE
SOMEONE IN THIS BEAUTIFUL
GREEN/BLUE PLANET
WILL LOVE YOU FOR IT!

Climb this mountain,
Don't tell her what her voice is

Climbing, I don't say,
When she calls out, she's joking,
She's not talking to me,
But if I imagine she is,
Watch me sprint up.

This euphoria,
I've only felt it once before,
When I was called little brother,
And these two words embraced me
So small, yet holding so much,
She might have been joking,
But what I heard was
I hear you,
And I almost cried

Now, climbing,
I don't say
I don't tell her what her voice means
I doubt she remembers
What I whispered in urgent tones that day
Because I know she isn't talking to me,
When she calls to the boy,
I know she's talking to
the real boy,
But when I heard her,
I soared up the cliff,
Exhaustion from the hours before
Suddenly gone
And I could run, like
Any boy could have,
Now I find myself dreaming
That she might mean it one day,
I find myself dreaming
That the boy she was talking to,
Really talking to,
Might mean it one day...

for all of my life,
i've been told that i would be going to hell,
that i'm destroying god's creation,
that god hates me.

the same god that is supposed to be all-loving.

then you have the audacity to ask,
'why aren't you a christian?'

it's not that i hate religion,
i just can't support one that has dehumanized queer people
for hundreds of years.

Stitched into this sac of skin at birth.
That fused to your bones
Fabricating a narcotic seamless facade

We pluck at the seams, with crude claws.
Laboring to unravel the lace seams
In vain

Whirling, flickering, suffocating nausea aimed at
Misuse of our pronouns of
Our echoing repulsive abnormal figure.

Funding a doctor to shed our skin.
Mutilating skin and bone to perfection.
For self-acceptance.

do you know what it’s like
to feel like you live
in the cage?

do you know what it’s like
to hate what you see
in the mirror?

do you know what it’s like
to flinch when you hear
your voice?

do you know what it’s like
to break down in the bathroom
and cry into sleep?

do you know what it’s like
when you are
in the wrong body?