we get it, poets. things are like other things.
this is a familiar concept to us all so why do we speak in metaphor all the time?

it is because when we tell you we feel like our insides are on fire,
we feel as though we are a house that is burning down until all that remains is a fragile frame accompanied by a pile of ash,
it is not a metaphor

it's a simile, notice my use of like or as

but it is not a metaphor

when you stick a cigarette between your teeth you do not fail to light it
the thing that does the killing will **** you
and you will let it

when you write down the exact amount of pills you took and the number of days you felt worthless tallied into your stretch marks
there is no metaphor there

my poetry isn't metaphor
it is a direct reflection of honest to god feelings
I have never written a poem not meant literally

we get it, poets. things are like other things.
but that is a simile.
things are not other things.
we do not speak in metaphor.

it is not uncommon for my younger brother to ask me for help picking out his clothes
but today
he took off his shirt to try on a new one and stopped, looking down, viewing that his stomach stuck out past his chest as most little boys do and said
"I think I'm kinda fat"
he is eight years old
I could probably fit one hand around his entire thigh
he pokes and prods at skin that won't give because what he thinks is fat is simply keeping his organs in
he has already been preconditioned to believe he is not enough
or he is too much
he is eight years old
I don't know whether to tell him he isn't 
or to explain to him that he would not be any less valuable if he were because I don't want him to take it as an insult
I don't want him to feel hurt
like I do every time I see myself in a photograph
he is half my age
I ask him why and he grabs his stomach and says
"I see fat"
he is eight years old

she was 5lbs 3oz
for the circumstances, she wasn't so small
with potential to grow big and strong
but potential is different from promise
Nevaeh
her name is heaven backwards
I suppose because she was born backwards of heaven
her little heart beats so fast
Nevaeh
if her name was Heaven, do you think she still would've been born with hell pulsing through every vein in her body
do you think she would have to recieve nutrients through tubing
do you think her organs would still reject everything that could help her get healthy
do you think her mother would still be allowed to bring home the baby
do you think God would still be trying to take her away from me
Nevaeh
withdrawal is not cute. even on a baby.
Nevaeh
her mother chose for her to be born dying
Nevaeh
there is a better place, potentially
but potential isn't promise
Nevaeh

my heart doesn't work
this isn't an angsty teenage metaphor
it leaks
and there is a depression in my heartbeat
my veins are weak

my heart has four chambers like four quarters of my lineage
and one half is made of shame
my grandfather unknowingly instilled in me
with the pain
carried in her pelvis
my weak veins are built of his DNA
so much of my body is made up of shame
I wonder if he'd even known her name

my heart doesn't work
this isn't an angsty teenage metaphor
I feel more than anyone I've met before
my core aches with a pain that isn't even mine
I carry shame
throw it like pebbles out to sea
so it'll skip over my son
when he looks up at me
his heartbeat will be lively and carry our name
there will be no leakage in his veins
and when I hold him
we will not know any shame

hold me like a wish
like dandelions are sprouting from my cheeks
even if they are weeds
hold me like dandelions on my cheeks
or an eyelash on yours
hold me like I'm yours
hold me like I'm more
than what she told me
tell me I'm so much more
hold me gently
hold me like safety
from the bomb
she held me like the safety
on a gun
I promise whatever I do it won't be leaving as long as you don't hold me like you're about to run
hold me like you want to keep me
she held me like she broke me in the store and figured she'd take me home since I'd had to be paid for
hold me like I'm more
like you saved every penny even though you found me secondhand at a thrift store
like both of your feet are soundly in the door
hold me like I'm yours
I'll hold you like your mine
we'll carry ourselves like we don't belong to anyone
and for the first time, it won't be a lie
I'll hold me like I'm mine
I'll hold me like I'm mine

my knuckles aren't bruised
anymore
she doesn't make me fight to
drink her holy waters
I read your scriptures like a storybook
but they never came true
why didn't you come true
I believed in God until the second after I met you
you told me
I was so good
you had already been corrupted
you were afraid to make me impure
but my heart was pristine
I stayed clean as long as you were
you were so good
I prayed to God
but you didn't come true
I burned my bible to cover the scent of you
I stopped praying to God and started wishing on stars
I swore I'd fight the ******* sun
but now
my knuckles aren't bruised
my son shines like the moon and she
has never failed to come true

Dear Alyssa,

I am trying to say your name, but it is so foreign to me I cannot believe I once called it my own. It is stiff and uncomfortable, and sticky and sad. I cringe every time I hear it, it was never my home.
But I will never not envy the fact that our mother handcrafted it for you while Avery was never touched by her beauty. When you think beauty, I know the only thing you think of is Montana Walker. The girl in your English class with the freckle by her smile who plays chess with you at lunch. But when your father thinks beauty, Alyssa is still his first thought.

Dear Alyssa,

When you were in sixth grade, you dreamt about me. I wore a pullover hoodie and a backwards hat with one arm slung around Montana's shoulders. You were afraid to touch her, but me, I wasn't intimidated by her. She was quiet and tall, I was taller and loud, my chest was open and breathed proud. You never believed you would get there, and you aren't. I am miles away from loud. I am unable to speak up for you. Even when  I was called a ****** my first day of public high school. Even when I was called a "******* ****** *** ****" by a member of our own community, someone who shares so much of our journey. I didn't speak up for you or me. I'm sorry.

Dear Alyssa,

I'm sorry I tried to tear you open to see if I was hiding underneath. I'm sorry. I was not underneath. This is no woman's body because it belongs to me. I was not underneath.

Dear Alyssa,

Mom and dad are right. You are beauty. You are pretty and feminine and sweet. Alyssa, you are the prettiest boy you'll ever meet, because frankly, there is no girl I used to be. We are inherently male because we are supposed to be.
**** biology.
**** transphobic members of the LGBT community.
**** that at 15, you've reached half a trans* person's life expectancy.
**** that you will never be allowed to join the military.
**** the life that they want you to lead.
You are me.
You are the boy I used to be.

Dear Alyssa,
I'm sorry.

Sincerely yours

P.S. I should've loved you more.