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Alec Boardman Mar 2017
Fingers type aggressively into the night as I stare at the screen of my phone.
A group debate about whether or not applying deodorant to your ****** will stop the chronic itching is being played out
We all smile and laugh.
For the record, it totally will.
The discussion of memes enthrals my mind as I relax into the cotton comforter.
The feeling of satisfaction travels through my veins as I embrace the friendship I have and the light, playful conversation taking place.

Anxiety and paranoia settle in and take their well worn places in my mind.
Like icy blue dragons, they curl around my thoughts, just waiting for these people who will soon be irrelevant to leave me.
The words they type about Harambe have no meaning
But the words they think about what I say in return imprison me.

Fear of abandonment creeps in as I swirl the aspects of my personality into a hue that will convince them not to drop me in a ditch.
I know, not because I’m afraid, but because I’ve seen it happen, that my trust in them will be burned to ashes eventually and I’ll be yet
Another traitor to the fragile glass of friendships that we all hold together.
Just waiting for them to use my insecurities against me like a time bomb ticking


Ticking in my ear.

And I can’t see the timer.

But I laugh along.
And send a relevant emoji.
They laugh at my jokes and I can’t stop thinking about how soon enough they’ll be laughing at
September 2016
Alec Boardman Mar 2017
If I were a planet, I would be as debated as Pluto.
Scientists eons away that have no business with me and probably never will discussing all of my qualities to pinpoint me into a label they've created to push me like a pinball machine into different slots of make believe self esteem.

If I were a planet, I would be the one whose moon is speculated to be made of cheese.
No one quite aware of what really lies out there but it's fun to dream up stories and ideas that we know will never be true.
No matter how damaging to this solemn planet's reputation in its universe these folk tales may be.

If I were a planet, my sun would have an oval shaped revolution, sometimes close and sometimes far, moving its inspiration along on its route and leaving just when my people need it the most.

If I were a planet, my living organisms would speak in tongues unknowing to even me.
Desperately searching every tick in them to see how they view their home, but always confusing me as I spin on my axis round and round.
September 2016. This was a prompt and I never quite finished.
Alec Boardman Mar 2017
Feet don’t fail me now.
I can’t look back, no way to go but forward
I need to stand tall so no one can push me down
I have to march on and pull away from the sticky bubblegum of my mistakes to rise up and grow higher than anyone ever could
This world needs a hero, and I sure ain’t that, but I sure am going to try
People push you down, but you have to pour in courage like the yeast in the recipe of your ideal self so you can rise to defeat all that will challenge you
Break free of the chains made of liquorice and spit on the crushed toys of the past to become someone no one expected you to be
Laugh at the quests others have said were undefeatable as you stomp them into the ground
Snicker when they say you can’t
With the flame burning in your chest, write in big firey letters the names of those who have crossed you and take the ocean of tears they’ve forced you to produce to wash them all out
They are nothing
You can do anything as long as you
September 2016
Alec Boardman Mar 2017
Dear Harry,

I see you're doing well these days.
One year later and I still watch as you grin and laugh with your friends.
Sometimes I just grin as well knowing the truth behind the plastic you call a smile.

You once told me that you feel like you don’t belong.
You get a burning in your chest thinking of how awful humanity is and how you wish you were a robot so your brain would match your body.
But when I told you from the anxious walls of my heart that I sort of feel the same but I'm not making a metaphor, I'm transgender
You said that I didn't feel it as intensely as you did so my identity wasn't that important.
I suppose I can tell you now that you became the reason why I agree with you about humanity.

Your face sickens me.
Sort of funny how everyone calls you Harry Potter because of a scar shaped like a lightning bolt on your cheek and it was a big joke and I always laughed because what a coincidence even though I never read the books or watched the movies and now because of you:
I never will want to.

I don’t know if you realise that you’ve shattered me.
Shattered me like the board you can cut in half thanks to years of karate and your hand crafted swords are part of the reason I never crossed you because if I just change myself hard enough maybe you would stop saying you could use them on me if I kept talking about how much I love everything if everything isn’t you.

Sometimes I would wonder if you could hear my knees fighting not to snap in half.
I would wonder if you knew that you are like a hurricane; strong and unpredictable.
And like a hurricane, you came storming and when your thunder rumbled and rain paraded all over me it left nothing untouched.
I could say you're a forest fire but that would make it hot and quick and emotionless.
No, you are a hurricane because hurricanes are wet and windy and raw and wild and it left me drowning.
Unlike a hurricane, your damage can not be fixed with teamwork and donations from those that feel sympathy.
The damage you’ve done is permanent and even with all the repairs I’ve made in the form of therapy sessions and promises that I shall overcome,
I am still in ruins.

You are bitter but not sweet.
But for 17 torturous months I only saw it the other way around.  
Reaching out to try to catch onto something worth fighting for
But this isn’t worth fighting for

Because my hands hurt from writing I’m sorrys.
Because my brain hurts from pushing out reasons you’re not worth it.
Because my soul hurts from fighting the back of my mind that still loves you.
You have rendered me obsolete.
March 2016
Alec Boardman Mar 2017
(November 2016)

It’s okay to cry
Don’t let your mother's poisonous words sting like bug bites
She’s only upset with herself.

It’s okay to scream
Don’t let anyone tell you your excitement annoying
They’re only jealous they don’t have the freedom to express themselves like you.

It’s okay to dream
Don’t let your teacher’s laughter bruise your heart
She only wishes she had your imagination.

It’s okay to be the odd one out
Don’t let the exclusion isolate your soul
It isn’t your fault that you aren’t like them

It’s okay to ask why
Don’t let the exasperated sighs stop you from seeking answers
You can’t be Sherlock until you get to the bottom, after all

It’s okay to forget
Don’t let his vile voice find its way into your rib cage
He was the one who chose to leave

It’s okay to live
Don’t let your learned helplessness persist
You are so young and you have so much to strive for.

So go after it.

— The End —