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"Look at my beautiful girl."

This title is thrown at me
and I find it hard to
breathe.
You label me a girl,
I know you know no better
but it still wounds me
deeply.

"Look at* her, she's so pretty!"

You should know better
than to call me this
pronoun.
I asked kindly that you
use different pronouns
but you throw these
pronouns at me in
a taunting manner.

"You were born a girl so you are one."

I was born a human with
female genitalia.
I do not classify as a
girl or a boy.
I classify more as me,
as an
agender.

Please don't yell or shout
or tell me I'm wrong
because then you're saying
you know me better than
I know myself and
that may be true
but I don't believe
it is so.
i am not an it.
i am not an object.
i have a pulse.
i have a beating heart.
i am made of stardust.
i am made up of skin and bones.
and you still call me an **it.

your mind can't grasp the idea that
i am a strong woman one day
and a strong male the next.
Hiding behind the walls I made,
I'm not like everyone else,
I hope this thing will just fade.

As I get older it only gets worse,
My momma calls me a princess,
And sometimes it makes me want to curse.

I look in the mirror,
And sometimes I can only stare back in horror.

I have extra parts and missing parts,
My hair is too girly,
My clothes hug the wrong parts.

I just want to scream,
And I don't want to be here.
I wish no one to be near.

But other times I look,
And I can't help but smile,
This has all been worth while.

I look at the wall I built,
And my whole body fills with guilt.
The face I plaster on is not always me
How could I let this be.

Slowly I will take it down
And live my life.
I will be a girl or a boy,
Or both or neither
If that's that day.
Not great at writing poetry. I would love for criticism so I can get better. This is about me being genderfluid and how it is for me. This may not be how another genderfluid might be.

— The End —