Whenever I want to keep a straight face
I silently sob in my head
"My dog is dead
My dog is dead
My dog is dead..."

Dont call me trans masc
When ive always been a boy

The memories that play on repeat
Turn over sheets, creating irreparable incomplete illogical theories that i brand so selfishly in the way i display my humanity.
I'm not sure if that's worth abandoning when they are memories...
Memories that come from me.

The connotation—the impulse.
The urge, and the strike.
A candle, a lighter—
the flame that ignites.

Sitting on the floor, in my room that night;
pen on paper, those words in my head.
Then the flame burned the papers—a fire so red.

Falling in love; well at least falling for the person- the narrative
of our love, a romance narrated from a distance — seen in third
person. You’re the third person I find myself whispering, “I love
you,” sharing so much about myself, sharing so much that it
aches to be so personal.

Sometimes my words disappear under your breath; I’m fading
away, and not feeling as myself; no longer existing as a person-
impersonal.

I catch glimpses of uncertainty in your eyes, and I sense that my
many personalities can be overwhelming- please don’t take it so
personal. You sometimes feel diminished in their presence, as if
you’re non-personal

Yet, as the day draws to a close, my greatest desire remains:
to know you deeply and to call you, my person.

I want to write a poem about Palestine
but I have no words.
The nouns are drenched in blood.
The verbs are obscene
and the adjectives unspeakable.
The sentences have no end
and there is no punctuation.
I am having trouble pronouncing
my own name.