Dysphoria, what does it feel like?
They sigh, trying to find a single sentence for years of caged silence.

Identity: Female
Stuck in the wrong way
To me it’s a sense of nothing will ever be right
The feeling of being in extreme danger
Like you’re about to die

Identity: Male
All I can say is
This isn’t me
The feeling is a long and windy explanation of
Disassociation
There are things about me that I don’t associate with myself
And it’s weird and confusing
When I become aware of them

Identity: ****. A drag queen? Trans fluid.
Dysphoria...
It's a lot like,
Anger,
Betrayal,
An itch
Like a really itchy sweater,
You can’t take it off
And the longer you have to wear it the worse it gets
You start to hate yourself because
You’re the one that put the sweater on in the first place

They say we are ill
Broken
“******”
“***”
“Butch”

It’s not correct

When they say it’s their right to say those
That’s when I get mad

If there is no way to make the mind conform to the body
You must make the body conform to the mind

If they think it’s their right to tell other people that their identity is wrong,
Then they are ill and broken
They have no f**king clue
And I know,
I can’t tell them they’re wrong
Without telling them why
But I realize
Explaining this is futile
With closed minded people

Bathrooms need to change, Health care needs to change, Identification needs to change
People are forced to “pick one”
Trans-phobia shouldn’t be tolerated
Mental health care shouldn’t be because it’s a “defect”
Social pressure, Internalized oppression, Abuse,
Shouldn’t
Be
Tolerated
Politicians have got it the wrong way around
One in two transgender persons have experienced ****** assault
One. In. Two.
They say, “We don’t want men undercover spying on our women and children”
You think they are in there to spy or ****?
Name more than two cases in the last 25 years
Where a transgender person has sexually abused a woman in the ladies bathroom
You can’t
But give me five minutes, and I can come up with five to eight names of transgender people
That have been assaulted in bathrooms since 2019 started

But our Pride cannot be destroyed
It’s our strength
A feeling of belonging
A belief that we can change this

We are not alone.

We Are Not Alone.

YOU ARE NOT ALONE.

You used to tell me that beautiful things come from pain and adversity.
Like motherhood, unconditional love, and true stories.
As I stood in the middle of a room painted white,
Staring at the remains of rolling hills burned to black,
I saw you staring back at me.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Shining against your bones
Velvet black
You’ve changed
And changed and changed
Yet your love still remains
Burnt fields like black panther fur
Whiskers are the needles on a compass
Always pointing to the azure sky
You used to sing when I cried
Rolling your r’s over rrolling hills
A haunting melody startling black birds into the night
Feathered constellations against a sliver moon
And lips pressed to my salty cheeks

You told me that your favorite skin tone was chocolate,
As you laid out in the sun hoping to melt. “A quarter black” is what you say when you want to feel proud,
Even as you tell me stories of how your mother was called negrita,
The girl who stood too dark amongst the crowd.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Black like the broken wings of mothers before you
Who had hands with scars from cotton seeds
And blue veins like uprooted trees
Stretching all the way to their tired knees
Burnt fields like black panther fur
You criticize your aging beauty
Speaking in envy of the color gold
Like you are a broken bowl in need of kintsugi
Yet silver snakes still slither
Over the pebbled river beds of your black curls
Dripping down the small of your back
Until they reach the base of your ivory spine
Burnt fields like black panther fur
You criticize your aging beauty
Because you never thought
Cocoa lips and sun spots painted on sculpted clay that never cracks
Could ever look as stunning as it does on you

You told me that it is better to speak my truth then tell pretty lies.
So I told you mine and you cried,
And cried and cried.
But look where we are now,
Standing beside each other with the same eyes,
Just different reflections.

Burnt fields like black panther fur
Tongue like a sword set ablaze
Tempered in pools of milk and honey
Blood red sun grazing the tops of your eyelids
Still reminiscent of those in old photographs
Where you saw the little girl you search for in me
Burnt fields like black panther fur
I am sorry I made you cry
But even when our backs are turned
We are still
Black birds singing in the dead of night
Free
Thank you mama for my broken wings.

Here I stood with ***** crystals beneath my feet and waited for the sky to turn golden.
Here I laughed into the echoing tunnel under my home as wet earth dripped on my skin.
Here I learned about parenthood among feathers and little eggs and ungodly morning crows.
Here I gloated about the manhood which sprouted from under my arms and in my mischievous thoughts.
Here I waited till dark to meet him in secret all the while dreading the sound of tires on gravel.
Here I buzzed with excitement as the boys had their lazy Sunday afternoon.
Here his freckles came close to mine as he softly said "you're so beautiful" with Bruno Mars playing in the background.
Here I said I would never grow up.
Here I comforted her with my pain because I had to be brave.
Here I forgot that being called "muddy children who act like savages " was considered an insult.
Here I cried into the stars for reasons I didn't understand.
Here I walked on hands and feet with happy little scratches and silent giggles.
Here only the sound of our beating hearts and delicate pride could be heard as I held him close.
Here I sang at the top of my favorite tree and waited for the words to hurt him as much as he hurt me.
Here the glow of a flashlight illuminated our tent as I asked her if she liked me like that.
Here a little piece of me was left sitting on a branch waiting to capture the next magical heart.
Here I wrote "I love you" on a mango leaf only to realize that he spelled love differently.
Here I sat beneath bright green trees and pondered my not-so-complicated life.
Here my words came out blurry and my stomach swayed like a sail boat out on a windy morning.
Here my hands went numb as I raced to the end of his life.
Here I visit through pictures and messy journals to remember the little things that are now so so big.
Here I left muddy footprints now covered with grass, but here they will stay.