I tried to write a poem
about how I felt
but
the paper just stayed empty because

how do you write out
the sudden realization
that because you trusted and told a secret
a friend will never look at you the same

how do you write out
your screams when
he lays his cold hands
on your body

how do you write out
the red of your skin
after trying to
scrub his touch off

how do you write out
the sound of her voice
when she laughs and
calls your name

how do you write out
the taste of your tears
when your parents say
you’ll always be a girl

how do you write out
loneliness and watching
your two friends talk and laugh
while you just sit quietly

how do you write out
jealousy and regret
when you see how little
everyone cares

I don’t know how
to write this poem
I guess I’m just not
a good poet.

There is a boy that lives
in my closet.
I keep him in a Nike shoebox
next to my skeletons and
other things I’m trying to
get rid of.
Day by day I guard the door
to my closet
in fear of what you’ll say
when you realize
he’s not another thing
you can control.
I beg and hope that he’ll stay
inside my
claustrophobic
closet
but each time I let him out
it gets harder to keep him in
because now he knows
there’s something outside his
confined life.
Because now he knows
there is a world of dazzling color
and loud laughter
and he isn’t satisfied like he used to be.
So each time I leave my home
he escapes into the way I talk
or the binder on my chest
and it scares me that I can’t seem to
hide him anymore.
There was a time when I
wasn’t afraid
to let him be seen.
We used to play together,
back when we didn’t realize
you were staring at us in horror,
whispering my difference in each other's ears.
But just because he was visible
doesn’t mean he was seen
instead all you could see was a confused girl,
a “tomboy”.
But you say
I’m getting too old
to be a tomboy.
Last night you crept
into my closet
a gun in your hand
and uttered those ten painful words
I could not bear:
“You’re going to high school
as a girl next year.”
And for each word
there was a bullet wound
bleeding water from my eyes
and screams from my throat
I woke up to find locks on my closet,
a reminder that
all the courage I’d worked up to tell you
about the boy I was hiding
was a wasted effort.
The boy pounds his fists
against the empty walls
but I can only helplessly cry
for the person I wish I was.

He doesn't care anymore. He doesn't see your face in a crowded room, he doesn't think about you at night. He forgot the color of your eyes even though he told you he'd never seen something so beautiful. He doesn't talk about how bad he misses you. He doesn't remember what it feels like to kiss your lips. Sweetheart, he doesn't care about you, and you chasing him will only make his ego bigger and your pride smaller. He doesn't love you anymore. I'm so sorry.

I wave but you can’t see me
I speak but you can’t hear me
We touch but you can’t feel me
I’m getting panicked now
Why can’t anyone recognize me?
I scream but you won’t turn to me
You search your memory
for any remnant of our history
but you seem to come up…  empty

I finally realize
I’m missing from your memories
You don’t remember
all the times I’ve wiped your tears
You don’t remember
all the times we’ve laughed together
You don’t remember
all our peaceful years

I know this is just a waste of time
but it’s hard to watch
your future sprinting past our crime
We were always easily divisible
but I didn’t realize
I was so invisible

Take my heart
Rip it out
Cut my skin
‘Till I shout

Carve out my soul
Burn it to ashes
Shoot me apart
Leave ****** gashes

I trusted you
And like Little Red
She trusted a wolf
So now she lies dead

Love scares me.
I like the type of things that are concrete,
like the ocean.
Something you could point to
and know what it was.

But you can’t touch love.
You can’t hold onto it
and make sure it never changes.

Have you ever noticed the stutter in my words or the way I can’t control my paranoia? My spiteful eyes and cracked lips still forced into a smile, trying to prove everyone that I’m a fighter. No one ever bothered to hold me close, to tell me it’s okay to not be fine. So I run through my life as if it’s a battlefield, hoping that one day I can live and not just survive.

You always point out every flaw
Always reminding me of everything I do wrong
You never cared how I felt
Always comparing me to someone else
I already know how stupid I am
Believe me I’ve been told enough times
That’s why I want to move away from you
You’ve made me feel alone
While still saying you’re my friend
I cared that you didn’t
That was my problem
The hardest part about letting go is that
I’ll never hear you running after me
Long into the snow

why the **** am I still alive there’s no reason I scream as I punch my fist against the empty walls wishing I could just shatter all the mirrors and shut out all the noise but I’m too much of a coward to say what I’m thinking so I write here all my thoughts while you sit back and laugh at my crazy mind still falling oh when can I stop falling and finally find the people I belong to but I’m starting to believe they don’t exist and I’ll always be with the ones that make me feel alone one pinprick and my thoughts scatter running circles around my paranoia as they all walk away what if no one ever cared is everything just a lie to shut me up I’d rather die than believe your lie oh no here comes the feeling I thought I’d forgotten skin crawls another scream another punch another failed test another tear why the **** am I still alive

For you, it’s a simple question.
You can just say,
“Obviously, I’m a girl.”
“Duh, I’m a boy”
But for me,
It’s a question that burns
Through my mind.
It’s like an identity quiz
Where all the answers are wrong,
No matter how much you decide
To change them.

I’m twelve years old.
They’ve just handed me a bright white paper.
Are you a boy or a girl?
That’s the question they ask on every evaluation sheet.
Are you a boy or a girl?
I can only sit there,
Pencil tapping nervously against the table.
I stare at those two white boxes.
Am I a boy or a girl?
What is so wrong with my mind,
That I am not able to choose one?

I’m five years old,
The teacher asks us to make the flower our favorite color.
Pink or blue?
I don’t want to choose,
So I split the flower in the middle
One half pink
One half blue.
The teacher comes and says
“At least you tried.”
What does that mean?
I put effort into
coloring inside the lines
And making it
Perfect.
Beautiful.
Interesting.
Different.
And all she can say is
“At least you tried.”
Am I only allowed to choose
one?

I’m eleven years old.
I’m looking through my drawer,
Picking out clothes to wear.
The black shirt
Or the white one?
They both look nice with the pants I’ve chosen.
I know I can’t wear both,
Because only one shirt can fit on my body.
Only one.
I hastily pick the white shirt,
Only to realize
They didn’t match as well as I thought they had.

I’m twelve years old,
Still staring at that sheet.
Am I a boy or a girl?
I searched hard,
Only to find
There’s not a single thing that’s wrong
With my mind.

What makes me a girl?
Is it my hair,
Or my face,
Or the way I love to paint and make pottery?
Or maybe it’s the way all my friends are girls.
The way I love painting nails.

What makes me a boy?
Is it the way I refuse to wear a dress or skirt,
Or the way you can always find me practicing archery
In the hot summer?
The way I hate pink.
How I always play soccer and basketball.

Black or white?
Fight or flight?
Pink or blue?
Boy or girl
Boy or girl,
Boy or girl?
Why not both?