E is for Emotion
that  overwhelmed me my first day

S is for Stress,
how will my life change?
Will my changes be noticeable?

T is for Tension
I had with my dad
When I first started questioning my gender

R is for reflection,
as I sit in my room
making sure of my feelings

O is for overjoyed most of the time

D is for depression that keeps creeping in

I is for intense dysphoria that's starting to fade

A is for aches and pains that started after a month

L is for life, that I want to live on.

I've always felt
like the black sheep of the family,
isolating myself with a collection of drugs and
probably self destructive behavior.

Take me
apart,
and you'll find a noose fashioned into a heart
tugging at my emotions
while I struggle to find myself in a sea of
vague feelings and LSD fever dreams.

Short fuse,
lit like the fire of a burning heart,
uncontrollable (maybe it feels good?),
yet always regretful in the end.
A stream of "You're useless" and
"you made her how she is"
How could I say that?

The words flash across my screen
in comments of facebook pictures
and news articles.
Why are you still calling HER a he?
How do you think that makes most of us feel?
The fear and uncomfortableness,
like a pink elephant in the room that no one seems to notice
lingers in most of our minds.
Gender has nothing to with
what's between your legs or
how you were born;
but rather, it sits in your mind
dragging along all your insecurities:
you don't even feel safe in your own body.
I am not a person of gender
rather, I'm a blank slate.
To think
her coming out is a publicity stunt
is quite alarming
I have to wonder:
when did that door in your mind close?

My hand clutches a dripping red knife,
in front of me
lays my baby  boy
dead as all hell.
On the table lies a sturdy rope.
I...I had my reasons
I think to myself,
a pool of tears mixes with the blood running out of my only offspring.
More tears leaking off my face as if it were Niagara Falls
He was bullied a lot..
Being highly autistic,
bullies had an easy target, y'know?
He came home sobbing daily,
telling me the principal never did ****.
Well, I called that sonovabitch,
and with no action after two weeks
I decided to take it upon myself.
Sobbing heavily,
I called my son into the kitchen
told him I needed help setting the table.
Its just us here since his dad passed away you know.
That's when it happened.
He turned around,
I forced myself to push in the knife
my eyes bloodshot and welled up with tears
as I hear his last screams
and then he falls silent, collapsing down to the floor,
my breath short gasps of air and I choke on my tears as I struggle to comprehend my actions.
I grab the rope,
tying it in a noose on a steel beam on the ceiling as I stand on a chair
and take one last look at my deed.
I'll see you soon, I love you
stepping off the chair, everything cuts to black.
*I love you

I was born into the age where computers have always been within arms reach,
information flowing faster than the speed of light
and I'm terrified.
We are no longer a free people
our info has been sold,
our souls have been collected in exchange for facebook likes
and shallow popularity.
God lives in our computers
preaching, and casting judgement among others,
while thinking we'll never get caught for posting that picture of 4 am **** rips and white dust spread on the table.

His bed is the ocean
created by tears flowing
from heart ache and abuse,
but also tears of joy
that gently rock him to sleep at night, cradling his every thought, collecting in his head like stars in the sky.
The constellations of his mind forming songs, and poems and god knows what that boy can dream of.

The smoke rises from the cigarette
she puffs as if moments from her life
were floating away.
Each puff tearing away another fragment,
every story stripped away from her.
But she needs it.
Like some sort of
magical elixir
that maybe, somehow, might ease the pain.
Her paper heart has been duck taped back together
too many times;
there are holes where her love should be,
filled with alcohol soaked corks and anything else that could
heal her fragile heart, white with powder.
She snorts lines of hope on her dresser in the morning,
little crystals that shine brightly in the sun, neatly clumped like long rows of sand in the desert forming long hills. Eventually, she thinks, I'll be free of this paper heart.

Darkness fills my room,
Windows shut out
like my heart,
black as night.
Clutched in my arms
is my last picture of you.
why did you have to leave? i miss you so.
I'd gladly walk to the end of the world
tie my heartstrings into a lasso
to pull you back to me,
or maybe a noose,
and i'll kick the bucket.

We bond over sad songs and broken memories,
a toast to the times we shared
and the places we've gone.
And though they're only in my mind
I hold them dear
like the memories were real.
The times we ****** up,
or even stayed home on a cold winters night
curled up together in a blanket because the heat went off.
your love was like pure ecstasy,
warm and wonderful
but depressive after the come down
realizing you were never and will never be here,
as I want you to be.
So I locked the door to my cold room
curled up and waiting for a reply,
any reply
instead of this silence.

These months have been so cold,
as I bundle up
staying in my moms office.
The roads became ice
so I've camped out by my computer
staying up into the wee hours of the night.
Dare I say
it's hell?

I wish I didn't doubt myself,
drowning in thoughts of
"Why can't I be like him?"
These words flow from my arms,
into poems that come from my heart,
yet coming to perform them
I constantly doubt if they're worthy.
These words are either
my pride and joy,
or just some teenage angst
cut into the fabrics of the interwebs.
"Why can't I be like them?"
always the question on my mind.
Are these really my open and honest heart?
Or just some teen ******* written out
in an attempt for attention and a cry out for love?

This world lacks voices
of those
scared to speak out.
Our main weapon
forcibly taken away from us
due to fear.
Fear,
a weapon of war
few have the power to escape;
my boyfriend is scared to
walk down the streets holding my hand
due to the overwhelming
possibility of attack
or stares,
can't even walk down the street
in a skirt
without death glares,
since the hair on my face seems not to align with what
genitals people think should be hidden under it.
Why is it that young queers are forever silenced
from speaking their mind, embracing themselves
or even just finding a friend to be open with,
A luxury that
so many lack.
My ability to function in society
should have nothing to do, with who I love,
or what I have downstairs;
for one thing is certain:
I will survive.

In the clean,
crisp air
of early morning,
I make my way
down to the field
where I plan to spend most of the day.
My heart pounds,
my body trembles
nervously as I walk.
Today, I leave this earth,
if only temporarily.
I settle down beneath a tree,
perfectly alone as
I open my brown paper bag.
Inside, my escape
to a better world,
my early morning confidence helping me relax.
After about an hour or relaxing
bright circles appear,
floating around in my empty field.
They're friendly, welcoming
to me, pulling me out of my lazy state.
Running freely, I follow them
with not a care in the world.
the field has turned vivid, bright and colorful,
the warmth dancing on my skin.
This running doesn't last long
as I slip down in the middle of the field.
The big beautiful sky passing by,
the clouds wave hello
as they pass by me
and that early morning confidence takes me away to a happier place.

The deed is done,
a puddle of red,
or rather
an ocean
of red
stains the floor.
Now to wait
till they
lock me away
in a mental institute,
the body was that of my son.
But they don't get it,
no one does.
This world is far
too cold
and
harsh
for life.
I brought him
into this world,
the guilt overpowered me
for all of his 13 years of life.
To see him ostracized
from everyone
because of the way he looks
and acts
was possibly the most painful thing
I have ever witnessed,
He tried so hard
to join in.
I didn't ever want
to end his life,
never intended to,
but he came home today
still an outcast.
Nothing we tried in the past had worked,
no amount
of discussions
with the principle,
or social workers,
did anything
but **** us over again.
So I stand here,
the ocean of blood before me
with a knife stuck in his chest (about where he heart is)
a noose around my neck, a chair underneath me.
This world is far too cold
and harsh, to survive in.

Where am I?
I've just been wandering around
Dead as a doorknob.
But how am I thinking?
Life's unanswered questions
I suppose.
Or would
that be
Undead life?
Fingers all rotted,
Skin peeling,
you could say
there's not much
left for me
here.
Though,
I suppose
brains aren't bad.
They're the key to memories,
emotions,
those which I
Crave.

I'm in love with 3 boys in my English class
who all are freaks,
like me.
We hide our
shame,
self hatred,
and
lies
in ourselves.
But being
together
always makes me feel alive.
Though, very rarely do
I get to see them,
feel them,
hold them close.


The first is Happiness,
he's always cheery
loud and boisterous.
He makes me smile,
feel glad to be alive.

Second is Depression,
he's a loner
but always deep in thought,
I can't remember
the last time
I was deep in thought.

Third is Greed,
he's different;
VERY
different.
He's abusive,
so is Depression,
but not nearly as Greed.

I miss when Happiness and I
could be together,
just by ourselves.
Those times  with him
were the best I've had,
but the other two
forced themselves in.
Things became drab,
unless we were all together.

I mostly hung out with Depression.
we'd often sit in my room,
snorting coke
or
whatever drugs we could get our hands on.
I guess we had fun.

Being with greed scared me.
He always encouraged me to steal,
to lie so we wouldn't get caught.
Like Depression,
he also liked the drugs,
but he wanted me to have *** with strangers,
for money.
He always wanted money.
Money, money, money,
nothing else matter to him except ******* money

Well,
I'm sitting in jail now,
Greed and Depression by my side.
But it's OK, Happiness comes to visit every so often.
Usually though,
something comes up for him
so he can't make it.

I'm in love with 3 boys in my English class;
and I realized it after it was too late.

Maybe the trees have souls
And they're watching
Over us.

What if
The trees were gods
That protect the earth,
Or try to
At least.

The earth,
The kingdom
For the trees,

What is reality?
what's real anymore? And
why can't I reach out,
and touch the sky?

I want nothing more
then to sit on a cloud,
high out of my mind
and leave this body behind.

Why can't my imagination
come out
in person
and finally
live?

The world is so loud,
yet
peaceful
with all the sounds
compounding into one.

Why must
we take away the sounds of nature,
of danger,
of love,
and leave in it's place
the sound of destruction,
of hate.

And while i'm on the topic
of sound,
why has it always haunted me so,
the sound of
silence?
what is it about this soundless noise
that fills me with dread?
Maybe it's that
silence equals
death,
which I refuse to give into.

Maybe it's the fear of going deaf,
and never hearing the sweet sounds of birds in the morning when I awaken,
or the music that drives me,
that makes me live.

Star light, star bright,
bring me my love tonight.
For we could watch the midnight sky
and pretend nothing else matters,
but our love,
and the cool air.
I want to grow old with you and
spend every
waking
moment
in your arms.
They can say what they will,
and lord knows they'll say the worst,
but our love will push us through it.
Star light, star bright
Bring me my love tonight.

Blackness
surrounds you,
with every waking step.
I am there
watching you
from the shadows,
I have no form,
no presence,
yet
I'm still behind you
waiting
for
one
small
mistake
*goodbye~

Let's trip on acid
And drink bleach till we choke and die.
For my soul needs to be free,
This broken body is starting to fall apart
at the seams.
We'll drink the night away,
till all our blood is poison
and we pass away in our sleep.
Let us explore the universe,
explore our conscious
unless
the world ends
the moment my soul is free.
Free from the torture,
the anguish.
I'll drink up to my neck,
and soon
I'll be unchained.

You make my heart flutter,
You make my soul sing.
I'm always so happy
to see you;
To feel your warm arms
wrapped around me.
Yet,
it is
precisely
these feelings
that I
shouldn't,
Couldn't
give into.
Since he is yours,
I am nothing,
deserve nothing,
just a sliver of wood
from a board
that's been rotting
ever since
the first time
I saw you.
I cling
to these comforting thoughts
that manage
to drive me ******* crazy.
Why am I like this?
What's wrong with me?
You make my heart flutter,
my soul sing.
But this feeling rips me to shreds.

Tonight
As I sit
staring
at my computer screen,
reflecting on life.
Memories whirl
through my mind;
the things I wish
I had done,
the things
I wish I
had said,
or not
said or done.
One thing becomes
abundantly
clear:
*I hate myself.

I've ****** up,
friends of mine
no longer close.

I've ****** up,
Got through high school
uptight
drunk off my ego
of a man who
thought he was better
that all the rest.

I've ****** up,
old love potentials
no longer close
to me, but
instead thrown away,
never to feel their lust again.

I've ****** up,
help me find
a way out
of this *******
I've dug myself into.

Memory is a powerful thing,
it can take you back
to happier times,
to times you hold dear.
Lord knows I won't forget the deal you made,
even if it don't mean **** now
it meant a hell of a lot back then.
Even
if you forget the times we shared,
how close we were,
I latched on,
planing
wishing
waiting
for a dream that
ultimately
would be crushed in the end.
Memory is a powerful thing,
but I guess
I remembered too much.

Hate fill my lungs as I feel the need to scream
out violent words.
Hate fills my heart,
I'm too deep in
this ****** up feeling.
Hate fills my soul,
I'm trapped
as angry music plays in my ears.
I'm stuck,
this hate keeps me in a cage
with the key dangling just above me.

Sometimes I wonder,
Do things happen for a reason?
I lay in my bed
Pondering,
Waiting,
For god or
Whoever
To take me away.
I open up,
Show my past,
My future,
Wants and desires,
And I push them
Away.
Away to the dark place
Inside a small corner of my mind.
I'm not who you think I am.
I'm a **** up,
A queer,
I'm disgusting,
It's true.
A lonely old **** up
Looking for his place in the world.
Or should I say her?
My *** means nothing,
My gender: everything.

Show me your home,
I've lost mine.
The one place I thought
I'd be happiest
Turned into a nightmare.

Show me your home,
Mines burned down
And the ashes just sit there
Reminding me of that night.

Show me your home,
I'm looking for a safe one.
This hell is quite dangerous
And I'm left alone.

Show me your home,
May I join you?
Live in the crawl space
I won't bug you.

Show me your home,
So a lonely **** up like me
Won't be left in the cold.

Sometimes I wonder
Is this life really happening?
Am I just some conscious alone in the world?
With visions of people to make myself feel less lonely?

Am I truly safe in this world
With the threat of death with every waking day?
Based on logic
I should be.
But,
What if that's only in our heads?
What if tonight
Something were to ****** you out of bed
in the middle of the night?
*I don't feel safe here anymore..

Who am I?
The kid who likes music and art?
The annoying kid
Who never pays attention?
The kid who
After discovering it one day
Due to boredom,
Likes Body mods?

Who am I?
The one crippled kid
Who everyone seems to pity?
Boy?
Girl?
Both?
Neither?
That one gay kid?

Who am I?
I remember
I used to have tons of friends,
Where did they go?
Why can't i remember
The good times I used to have?
I shut them all out,
I can't remember if i meant too
or not.

Who am I?

Often I feel
As though other people find me annoying,
Or i'm not as liked as i would like to be.
I think i'm annoying
or that things i do
are some how turn offs for others
and i was destined to be alone if i want to be myself.
i find myself
wanting to change
wanting to be liked
it feels miserable here
alone..

Y'know, instead of saying how my hair looks messy or stupid,
Maybe you should be proud that I have the guts to stand up against the cookie cutter society
And be my self
Yes, my hair is a mess, but
So it my soul. And it's a beautiful mess that makes me who I am. I'm sorry I can't be another ******* cut out product of society.

Come
Gravitate towards me my love,
Fill in what has been lost
A hole in my heart (about the size of a fist)
From the previous love-hate relationships I've had
From the wars I had,
To the utmost victory of a fresh
Relationship
To the pains of surrendering to a break up.
I always swear this war will be my last
Let's keep that true.

I feel as though I'm watching from a screen,
The comedies that pass me by that turn into tragedies,
The sheep who comform to what's hot,
And those who try to be unique,
But I'm just here,
Watching,
Waiting for something to happen.

I have a slight waddle to my walk,
And a slight trip too,
Which has been more of a negative on social standing,
Especially in elementary school all those years ago,
Where we expect people to be perfect.
How did that carry into adulthood,
And why?
Should we not judge,
Based on personality and character,
Rather that how you look,
Or who you love?

Some may ask why I have pride in myself,
Pride in my sexuality,
Pride in my gender identity,

My pride come from deep within, from cracks in my brain,
That some may not have.
It comes from the sense that,
You know,
I am  strong enough to get over every ****** who told me I'm going to hell.
It burns in my soul,
My passion,
And my work,
And I **** well will never change.

The words buzz,
Like Wasps in my ears,
That I can never seem to get rid of,
"You did this to him,
It's your fault."

But I couldn't do anything,
I watched from my seat,
As it played out on the big screen,
Every pill,
Every attempt,
Until he finally got it right,

Laying there,
In front of the school building,
He had jumped to his grave.

Oh how I miss the days,
Back when renting a movie was something of a special occasion for us.
We'd all look for what we wanted to watch,
And cram around the tv for a family movie night.

Gone are the days when the whole family was around,
The days when I could wrap myself in a blanket and watch cartoons,
Not worrying about grades or who was popular.
A sadness that has become families over the years,
That was not there in my childhood days.
Oh, what I would do to go back.

My arms are wings,
That flap,
Flap,
But never seem to get me off the ground.

My mind is a birdcage,
That keeps me trapped here,
In these melancholy thoughts and delusions,
And keep me tripped on acid,
Although I have never taken the pills.

Maybe someday,
I can break free of this hell,
The key is dangling just out of my reach,
And these arms will surely grow.

We were not wrong when we were sleeping together,
We were not wrong when we held hands and walked through the mall,
We were not wrong to be the same *** and to be in love,
And we never will be.

These drum Beats flow from my heart,
Like a love song,
Happy in tone,
But torn up inside.

I want to feel your arms around me,
Yet the distance between us has grown,
Since the last time I saw you,
It feels so cold,
This great distance between us,
And I long to feel your warmth,
And I long to feel your touch.

My heart pounds like drum beats,
And I'm lost in the sound.

My wings glow like neon signs,
Passed in dark streets,
Of the red light districts,
But what am I doing here?
Where along did I lose my innocence?
I want to run,
To scream,
But I'm trapped here,
A place where innocence goes to die,
And I'm forced to be a man.

The idea popped in my head,
Like a balloon,
Pushed to its  limits,
"What am I doing?" I thought,
As I readied myself towards the edge,
Was this my Id taking over,
Or simply my superego,
Thinking this was best for the world?
With the thoughts filling my head,
I jumped.

The idea popped in my head,
Like a balloon,
Pushed to its  limits,
"What am I doing?" I thought,
As I readied myself towards the edge,
Was this my Id taking over,
Or simply my superego,
Thinking this was best for the world?
With the thoughts filling my head,
I jumped.

We are the kids who bang on cardboard boxes and buckets and call them drums,
The kids who, despite the pressure of the world keep on pushing,
We are the kids who sing along in basements,
to bands with no funding,
And we're ok with that,
We are the kids who will keep our community Alive,
After those who came before us have moved on,
And we are the ones who have the power to bring it all back.

Nevermore do I want to hear,
That I can’t do something,
Because I’m a boy.
Nevermore do I want to hear,
That “This is a girls thing” or “only girls do this."
Nevermore do I want to be stared at,
For going into what they think is the wrong store,
Or for wearing things for the opposite gender.
Nevermore do I want to hide,
What I truly feel inside,
Nor do I want to conform to a certain role,
Because of what I have in my pants.
Nevermore will I ever,
Be just a boy, or just a girl,
Because I’m not.

A question, dear one, or shall I say a few? For I've been curious where things went askew. Or how, perhaps, would be the right question. Was it me or was it you? Or quite possibly a combination of both? For I was forced to look for answers inside my brain of why I was hidden in the shadows from your friends, or was I sadly mistaken? And what did the meaning of the word "mates" mean to you anyways? A friend whom who were closer too than all the others? Or perhaps a lover? Both? None of the above? I find myself plagued with curiosity to theses meaningless questions, in hopes, I can get the answers I desire.