Lanky
Pale
Messy fudge hair
His shorts look a little too short
His nose looks kinda funny

Oopss

I will never let it go
I've been told to dye it a natural colour
So I could get a job
But what is the point of getting a job if you can no longer be who you are

I figured out my suicide plan doctor
You've been asking if I had one
And now I do
I want to swallow just enough pills
Not to much
Just enough to make the voices in my head finally go way
Then I will climb to the roof
with my note books
Every single thing I've ever written
And I will bring my best friend
*****
Yes doctor, I've told you that I have other friends, but ***** was here when no one else was
And I will write till the voices come back
I will write about every time I have tried to **** myself
I will write a letter to everyone who knows me
Even the janitor that found me skipping class my sophomore year
And the boys on the bus from middle school
Even the people who wont let my name soil their lips
Doc, I'm gonna write these letters because I need everyone to have a permeant personal good bye, something physical
I will fill up two note books with everything I write
And then I will write to whatever god there may be
And tell them I'm sorry that I had to end everything this way
You see doctor I've never believed in God, but if there is even a small chance he's real I don't want to leave on bad terms
I'm going to write down every coping skill I know and address it in a letter to my parents
Then once I can no longer write even my name
I will stand and dance in the light of the moon
Letting the soft glow dance on my skin
And I will ignore the chill of the night
I will dance till my knees shake
And then I will speak to the moon
Doc the moon is like *****, Its always been there
I will apologize to the moon
Reaching to hold it in my arms
Toes on the edge
I will fall reaching for the moon
And in the final moments I will rejoice in the cool wind nipping at my skin
I will bask in the soft shimmer of the stars
I will say I'm sorry as the soft grass makes contact with the back of my head
You see doctor I've figured out my suicide plan

I'm a writer
Let me scream it in the halls
And write poetry about it in class
I will promote myself every where I go
After all I'm a walking poetry piece
My name even rhymes

Sitting out side crying
Because I don't feel like my best friend lives me like she used too
I came I've here because I was depressed
And I needed her
But her boyfriend came over
And now it's one on the morning and he's still here
And I'm crying on her back porch
Wanting to go home
But it's too late to ask my mom

She tried to drop out of school
And I still supported her
She's been my best friend for four years on the 2141st of October
But what if I can't handle four more years

Sitting on her back porch crying
I have no one to talk to
And no where to go
My only comfort is writing

Step 1: Be as anxiety ridden as possible.
Get a bladder infection because you are too scared to ask the teacher to use the restroom.
Fail your Algebra class because you fear that if you tell her you are confused, she will laugh at you.
Everyone will laugh at you.
Wear dresses and frilly skirts because you are scared to come out as transgender.
Your mind will mock you with thoughts along the lines of,
“ You dont deserve to be a boy.”
Just go along with it.
Let the words bounce in your head like children in a bouncy house.
Do not reach for the ibuprofen bottle.
You see your mind will need to be as messy as your heart.
Therefor your heart will have to crumble into an avalanche.
DO NOT PICK UP THE PIECES.
You will need to be addicted to starbucks and body modifications.
Do not get anything less than a Venti because if you do not get your daily dose of caffeine you will go into withdrawls.
You need to modify your body because it is the only thing you can control.

Step 2: Make your hair as colorful and bright as possible because then maybe your mom will understand the fact that you are gay.
Maybe if you turn your head into a walking pride flag you will not have to see the look of disappointment coat her face when you step out of the closet.
I know what youre thinking because I have been told this before.
“But honey, the closet is made for clothes.”
Yeah youre **** right but the closet is also the only place you can hide your chest binder and boxers,
They will sit right next to your pushup bras.

Step 3: Feel everything.
Feel every single thing as deeply as you can because if you do not,
Then how will you get a messy heart?
And to have a messy mind your heart must match like the couple shirts he bought you on your one year anniversery.
Do not love him.
He will break your heart two years in and cram the words
“I simply dont want you” down your throat
And you may not cry.
You may not show him you are hurting because then he will know you care.
Then he will know you are wrapped around his finger as tightly as you can.

Step 4: Do not fall in love.
Even if it is simply with the brush strokes on a canvas.
Do not fall in love with anyone before you fall in love with yourself because for the past two years, toxic waste has filled your veins.
Do you know how much it hurt to bleach him out of your mind?
You have to scrub his fingerprints off of your body.
You will become raw.
It is okay to be raw,
You just have to learn to heal yourself.
No more coating the burn wounds with promises of forever.
No more temporary treatments.
For the sake of your sanity,
You must fall in love with yourself,
Before you can learn to not love him.