A metaphor… love is a metaphor to everything of beauty. I found my metaphor in her arms. Her not a he and this is the things that we as human beings don’t comprehend. Love owns no gender, love owns no rules. We’ve been taught through life that there are certain kinds of people who shouldn’t be accepted when in reality we all are the same. Who I have sleeping in my bed in my arms at night owns the right to be who they are not who the world expects them to be. I found my metaphor my love. She opened a door to my heart that I thought only I had the key to when in all truth… I owned the spare she has the original. I was placed in a world where so many told me I had no place in being because my he was a she. My love owns no gender only a one person deal her name slips off of my tongue onto my pillow at night as I dream of the day I can kiss her in public and the stares will melt into a standing ovation… a day that I soon hope will come. Her heart owns mine, nothing in this world could take that from us. Only father time. We don’t know when or how we will die but I do know that I will find my peace by her side. When she dies it will be the most beautiful thing because nobody has ever died with their heart still beating… but this girl when she dies she will be alive within my chest, within this thing she calls hers. I am a girl and she is a girl but together we are the world. Society puts a warrant on the heads of the innocent who only try to find themselves in a way that they’re too simple to understand. Love is too complex these days… said nobody ever. Love is love no matter the gender no matter the *** recognition. You are who you are you love who your heart tells you to love. Changing to fit someone else’s perception of love or to be who they expect you to be is something I’ll never be able to do. I as a human being own the right to fight for something I love and believe in and that is her. I believe in her I love her I am a part of her as she is a part of me. Not even surgery could remove her from myself. We are merely two bodies with one soul and two separate minds. The problem with that is she constantly runs through mine. The world tells us that we are wrong… but something this wrong has never been so right. I’ll fight till the day I die to show the world our love through our eyes. Our love… something that no guy could supply. I have fallen for her, and fallen is a term used so loosely. This girl shoved me off the edge of a cliff only to jump as soon as she did, grabbing me by the arm rolling her sweet body underneath mine as we fell to our fate… she is my fate. It’s way too late for society to tell me that who I am who I love is something so wrong. They dispute our feelings for one another as if it’s debatable. My life is not a political meeting you cannot tell me who I can and cannot be with. Society sees it as just another “phase” I’m only here to show them that yes throughout our life’s we go through stages and phases that soon we grow out of only to find our final phase who defines us as who we are… I have found my final phase and society here is the big ******* to you because she’s the one who my final phase shall be spent with. Her touch is like no other, the way her hands slide over my body purely out of love. How she sees me in ways that I couldn’t possibly dream of seeing myself. Not only does she touch my body and make love to my body she undresses my thoughts as she watches them walk throughout my heart. She kisses the scars I’ve left on myself inside and out. The way I let society tell me who I was supposed to be, how listening to them almost destroyed me… took me to the point of no return no turning back now I have to take this wonderful weapon with a bullet in the chamber engraved with Katlyn the one who never came to know who she was in this cruel world… instead she was the gun and her heart was the bullet piercing through my mind and my soul creating the only thing that I’ve ever known. I found my metaphor in her eyes, the ones that shine so bright as they stare back into mine. I swear I can see the future through her beautiful deep brown eyes. I lose myself in them and pretend that I don’t know where I am going just to be able to stay a little longer. I long for the day when we’ll be united as one by the state and how we can declare our love to this world on paper… although it’s just a paper stating something we’ve known all along. I was born to find this girl in my life at a time where life was no longer my dreams where I had fallen to my knees begging for someone to take the knife away from me before I ended something so precious to someone I hadn’t had the chance to meet. In the same day I had taken that gun and placed it to my brains she sent me a message saying… I fell for you the first time I saw you. You tell me what you’d do… a girl you’ve had your eyes upon for so long and in your mind knowing you’d never be able to love the way that she so deserves messages you telling you that you are her future in this world… Society can let me bend over so they can press their lips to my sweet *** and kiss it firmly because this girl… this girl was born for me as I was for her. Kimberly is her name… and soon she’ll be my everlasting metaphor

I see her around the school all the time.
Never did I think that it'd be her touch... just the right one that I need.
We had the same classes, and unknowingly the same life styles.
Her hand brushed mine as we both reached for a book...
Apologizing at the same time we noticed this was the first time we had talked since the eighth grade.
She had bright red cheeks that matched her red hair, with a smile that could power all of New York City.
One touch of our skin and I instantly became addicted.
They should make a Lesbians anonymous, for girls who crave the touch of "her" and have withdrawals  when kept from it.
Her green eyes over powered me...
With her I am Superman and those eyes sparkling so bright are my biggest kryptonite.
One gentle brush of her hand against mine was enough to have me begging on my knees for just one more time.
She brushed her hair behind her ear as she sideways grinned and looked down to her feet.
Her glasses reflected me in them... all I seen was my lips against hers and my hands holding hers against the wall as I slowly lost the fight to her kryptonite.
I'm now without her touch and love... but have you noticed... Superman always comes in contact with kryptonite again.

A girl, a room a familiar song a familiar story. Little girl not even in a form of a woman, she hasn’t even grown into her period yet. Laying on the bed by herself crying biting her nails asking herself why… Her cry wasn’t heard her tears were silent why couldn’t they hear her cryin’ on the inside dying from the outside in… her wrists were clean… innocent. Time flew by with no one at her side, the day turned into night, in the night she began to cry. The so called day was hell for her, nothing she done could help her escape from it. Begging on her knees God help me please and nothing seemed to change… Her world turned upside down what’s wrong is right and what’s right is wrong. The same old room the same old song she sings on a daily… he touches her daily… Running in her mind trying to find a safe haven when all she wants to do is take a trip to heaven she’s done. Giving up finding her own song but the same verses seem to show up every time that he blows up. She cries… in her room under lock and key she takes that blade and whispers the words please… the only love in my life is from this blade or that knife running its bitter sweet over me. She cuts deep as deep as she could go without letting them know she cries… Her pain, she wears it on her sleeves this ain’t no joke she has been begging please for some time now and nothing seems to heal. The screams fill her head with anticipation thinking about the way the blade made sweet love to her now tallied up skin how she invited it in instead of fighting it within she allowed it to touch her… unlike him. She cries, every night thinking about that dreadful night when she had just turned 12… he told her it’s what fathers and daughters do… it’ll bring me closer to you so she stopped fighting. Not knowing what was actually taking place… he forced her into believing that was a daughters place to do those things that no other daughter does… willingly. She’s scared from the inside out, trying to figure out sitting in health class at the age of 13 when her health teacher reads from the board… this is what lovers do. The words oral *** and vaginal *** appear on the screen she hears her screams from the pain in her chest… this is not a request it needs to stop… she begged him please he laughed in her face but didn’t leave her be… it kept on. She’s turning 15 and her tears grow larger and flow longer… her tallies grow deeper the love grows sweeter that she holds for her blade… The drinking and the drugs grow strong, stronger than her will to live she gives up hope… it’ll never end. She’s drunk, not able to stand on her own two feet she forgets that she comes home to him… nobody suspects anything nobody hears her cries for help… he touches her again as she lays on the couch unable to speak because the liquor in her system is too hard to beat… she’s wasted. Trying to scream begging her voice to finally speak as he… he pushes himself on her placing his hands on her throat. Cupping her neck in his hands he chokes her to sleep… waking up in tears not remembering the night she had before she gets another drink. Looking around in a familiar house he lays on her couch… no clothes on happy as could be. Rubbing her thighs she sees… marks that wasn’t there before she picked up her drinks. He smiles… knowing she doesn’t remember knowing he stole her innocents from the night before he took something that wasn’t for his self. She stumbles to the mirror… looks at herself and sees the bruises on her cheeks… not remembering how they happened to be placed there. Crying folded over in the sink throwing up the memories of her past… the memories of when he was just a dad… the memories of before she grew a chest and started to gain thighs… wiping the tears from her eyes. She grabs her best friend the one who loved her the one she let in… kissing it so softly there she goes again. Placing the metal against her skin and gently pulls it back again… scarlet sputtering out of her skin. She cries… from the inside out she dies… slowly killing herself with the misery that he so ignorantly put her through… The words I’m sorry slip off of his lips as easy as the blade slips off of my skin… he says it’ll never happen again as he only rubs his filthy hands back over her skin infecting her soul with pain… She cries… hoping one day she’ll wake up and be able to watch him die… Hatred grows stronger for herself, letting her brain run her life when her heart was just as smart… She blames herself… for something she had no intentions of letting happen… She left… and now he tries to be the father that he claims he always has been… She cries… I… I cry.

I'm sorry that I'm not there.
I'm sorry I'm not there to wipe your tears away when the stream down your precious face.
I'm sorry I'm not there to hold you, and tell you how much you truly mean to me and that you are the Superman to my Batman because that's how we explained our love.
I'm sorry that I left and never got to say goodbye to you...
I'm sorry that I didn't get to kiss your lips one last time, how the taste of you stayed with me all day and not once began to fade just like my love for you.
I'm sorry that I let you down.
But most of all... I'm sorry that I let you fall and now I'm gone.

Coming out to my family was more than difficult.
I hated myself and felt as if I had let them all down.
That they wouldn't accept me.
The day it had happened, I didn't plan for it... but I was violently dragged out of the closet by the roots of my hair and un-understanding looks and stares crept over my body for what seemed like forever but couldn't had been any longer than thirty seconds of nothing but a burning sensation throughout my body.
Their eyes traveled over every inch of me.
They didn't speak, and then again they didn't have to, their eyes said it all.
It was mothers day, and at the time I lived with my aunt who sat with my grandmother who approvingly shook her head and told my that all ******* shout be dead...
I sat helplessly listening to all of the derogatory words fleeing from their lips as if they were bats from the hell they said I'd go to for loving girls.
My aunt asked me "what do you "like" about women Katlyn..." as if she were a therapist about to solve all of my problems with talking it out only to try and play reverse psychology on me.
But what she didn't know is all of those 16 years I'd spent in that dark, lonely, un-needed, ridiculous, stupid, figment of societies imagination called a closet that categorizes someone's anxiety and fear of showing their true colors a magnificent rainbow because of the hate and discrimination that would flow out of them like this poem flows out of my heart.
I spent all of those 16 years trying to come up with things that I didn't like about women because that seemed more simple than what I did like... all I had come up with was that I couldn't love them and be open about it without someone hating our love and lust for each other.
So I answer my aunt with this " I like nothing about women, but love everything about them. I love their personalities, I love their physique, I love how strong that they have been created although it is people like you who doesn't support them that ends up breaking them into a fragment of the woman that they truly are, I love how their hearts are beautiful and a story book ready to read if you give them the time and attention that they not only feel that they need but deserve, I love a woman's smile when you call her beautiful, I love how a woman's eyes tell everything about her, I love how a women kiss with their lips so plum and passionate, I love how women come in all different shapes and sizes and how every single shape and size defines them all as a beautiful, mystic, and **** perfect being, I love how all women are unique and how not one woman is exactly like another, I love how a woman clenches her thighs around my body as we declare our love by caressing ourselves over each other becoming so close that for that moment that we are making love we become one human being, how I get a fever from the friction our bodies make against each other, how I melt into her as she flows over my body in the bed that you bought me. I love how they make me feel the way that no offence but a man never could. I love how women tastes and how mine left little morsels of her pleasure on my sheets and you touched them with your bare hands and you sit there claiming that being gay is a disease... all I have to say is if that's the case, you've been contaminated and you have my disease of loving women and now you are as gay as me.

I once had this lover who when in the mood would communicate to me in a way only my body could understand. Her eyes shining so bright inviting me into her soul. Fading pink from her teeth clenching her lip begging for my tongue to wrestle hers. Cringing toes pushing forwards as she scratches her nails down her skin leaving pink lines like the sun kissing the ocean while it sinks down into the water. My lust for her grows stronger the longer that my lungs draw air. My lover ran her fingers through my long hair bringing me to my knees… not only because I was ***** but because I had tangled up hair. I call her my queen and I was her King even though my body matched her body but she knew what my heart would read. I love her, she claimed to love me through all of my flaws she was my whiteout, clearing all of the mistakes about me, and we re-wrote my history with just one succulent kiss from her sweet lips. We wrote history with everything that we did. When she slid her hand into mine and our fingers wound themselves around each other as I melted into her eyes like the chocolate that god melted to create her eyes with a slight tint of red in them that burned into the back of my head. This lover was a gift from god himself… even if she’s another’s lover, and not mine, because she was my first…, and last true love.

The words I want to say crawl to the back of my throat as their looks towards me speak before their mouths could.
"Excuse me, but are you a you know... lesbian"?
A fire burns inside of me ready to spread out into the open across everyone.
The only way I knew how to respond was "I am a human being, if you are asking for my ****** orientation the answer is that's personal I don't even know you so why does it matter"?
Their stare morphed into an offended expression.
I thought that it was quite obvious though, my hand was melted into hers and our looks towards each other were very easily detected.
We're a couple.
I kiss her as they walk away offended, and turn back to see up lip locking in the courtyard.
Being immature teenage boys they placed their hands over their mouths and bellowed out "OH ****"
We just smile and the words I love you slip out from our lips at the same time and I look to her and whisper you're my ****** orientation.

Drowning, she says she’s drowning in a love that I have caused…
what I failed to realize is that I had been leading not only her on but my heart as well.
I’m screaming from the inside out and nothing seems to hear my cry for help.
Disparity reeks on this skin that covers my human body, but my spirit floats beside of the other girl…
The one who should be the only girl.
Instead I took the knife and cut and cut across my skin trying to find somewhere to bury the love that the other girl had given to me but when I did…
It only sprouted and grew into a tree as sturdy as I could ever be. Intimidating, the tree that was originally built to protect me from the others love…
It has now overtaken my shadow and buried me instead of I burying it. The phrase eat your heart out rages throughout my head.
I hear it over and over again wishing at times it was dead to me but all I can see is how my heart is literally eating its self away.
I scream, and scream and cry… I try and let the feelings die, but they remain.
I'm slowly killing myself and I'm screaming out and nobody hears... I'm always surrounded by the people who "love" me but not by the one who loved me first and it's killing me.
I literally feel my chest compress against my shirt, the shirt I wear oh so baggy to try and escape my chest from pressing against it so that my heart is even more compressed...
I try and try but I can't get out of this thing they call being depressed.
It isn't depression it's a mental suicide...
Taking a gun, and loading up the memories in the chamber only to pull the trigger and watch as everything I’ve worked so hard to forget spills over top of me as if it were the oceans high tide…
violent but oh so beautiful, and it never dies… it leaves momentarily only to return just as strong as it was before.

They tell me that I am beautiful.
They tell me "we love you no matter what" and then ask me if I know that...
I always reply yes although in the back of my wondering mind I question if they'd love me if they knew...
Knew that I love a her.
Would they still find me beautiful?
Would they find who and what I am as beautiful...
Could they love me  if... they truly knew me?
I finally decided to find out, but before I could even tell them... my brother had already put the true me on display for them to spit upon.
That day I found that no matter what others think if I love myself I will always be accepted.
They beat me every day after that almost to death...
But yet still said we love you.... you know this right?
They called my love a disease.
As if you could treat someone for homosexuality.
They acted afraid to touch me or even breathe the same air that I do, like being a lesbian was a contagious disease that was fatal.
The only thing they failed to realize is the only disease that was contagious and fatal in this whole situation was their hatred.
Discrimination and hatred towards something becomes airborne off of the lips of an ignorant being who is too simple to understand the complexity of love.
Too blind by what they deem "the right way to love is"
A man and a woman only, they say.
Well here is something that might educate you on love.
Love is something that two or more human beings feel for each other and express by having a dedicated relationship.
Love owns no gender, but only possibility.
There are endless possibilities for love.
Some love the same ***, some love the opposite ***, and some people don't feel comfortable in their own skin because they were meant to be the opposite ***. Either way their story goes, love is a beautiful and miraculous gift that some people miss out on due to the constant putting down from their own species about something that isn't even any other persons business.
What does it matter if I have a woman sleeping in my arms at night or if it's a man.
Maybe I don't feel comfortable in my own skin because I trusted "them" enough to share a piece of my heart with them and they spit in my face rejecting everything that I ever was and am...
Through all of the pain and heartache I found that their opinions are insignificant to my life.
I am me and I am proud because I look around me and there are so many other young LGBTQIA members who are petrified of coming out of this imaginary closet that is full of all of the evil and demeaning things that society might have to say.
Now I stand up and say don't be shamed of who you are, embrace yourself and love who you are.
That closet grows daily, indulging in our pain and hurt...
When all that we need to do is love one another, because no matter what anyone thinks, you are an extraordinary person.
Now, "they" have accepted me and are once again apart of my family.
But I will never forget my true family in the LGBTQIA society...
Where I never was disapproved of.
Where I found my home, in her arms.

The sidewalk seems to grow longer the more that I walk.
Leaves blowing in the wind, scratching at the asphalt.
Baggy shorts a t-shirt covered by an overly large hoodie, a backwards hat and DC's.
Sideways looks begin to consume me.
Silent comments are spread between them as they double look me.
My body reads a young girl in her teens, while my clothes read just the opposite.
Me I'm a different breed from what they're used to seeing.
Mixed emotions control my being, forcing tears into fleeing from my tear ducts.
I skip high school daily, I can't stay there the hate drives me crazy.
I thought if anyone could handle it... that it was me.
I was forced into believing that being me was some sort of disease.
I cry myself to sleep in a crisis facility that isn't for me.
My cries are silent, the same goes for me.
I leave them speculating what goes on within me.
To others I am far from perfect, to me I will one day be perfect when I shed this layer of female and grow into a picturesque male; like caterpillars shed their cocoon and become in tune with what they were destined to be.
Only then will my soul be able to live in complete harmony with my body.
Others only see a girl trying so desperately to be a guy... a young lesbian in their eyes.
Truth be told I am a woman on the outside and a man on the inside awaiting the day that I can be turned inside out and sprout out what my heart always said to be.
They don't understand me, they claim it to just be a phase that all people go through... but for me this "phase" is never ending.
They are wrong to tell me that it is just a phase, that's like me telling them that their sexuality or their gender is just a phase and that one day they will grow up into the person they were born to be.
You are born already knowing who you are within your own heart it just takes time to grow into that state of being.
Life is a series of phases, in my life being a woman is the phase that will soon pass as I transition into the young man I was all along.
People like me tell me to be strong, I listen but sometimes it feels as though I am... alone.
I'm singing to the choir this much I know.
But when will I be able to say that I am at inner peace with myself.
When will I be able to stand in front of the mirror and see the real me staring back ready to marry the lifelong decision of changing my ****** gender into what I deem is me.
I was born by the name of Katlyn... I grew up into this world by the name of Nick. They question why... my answer is, I am just a butterfly.

the memories are flooding in
tears cover her pillow, and her cheeks
she's gone down, deep
too far in her past... gone
she tries to lift her head only to have a memory remind her she isn't allowed to feel the happiness she once possessed
she caused herself pain and misery
"lies" that costed her everything
she could have just held on, bit her tongue and dealt with it... but she let go
the drinking and the drugs took her away from the only thing she knew
but yet drowned her sorrow and helped her forget her surroundings as she so wished and begged her mind to do... it just wasn't enough
now she sits in a room... with memories as her drug
addicted to the pain she's caused herself unable to return
maybe... just maybe she soon will learn how to do what the liquor and drugs did with the memories...
fade away.

I'm slowly killing myself and I'm screaming out and nobody hears...
I'm always surrounded by the people who "love" me
but not by the ones who loved me first and it's killing me.
I literally feel my chest compress against my shirt, the shirt I wear oh so baggy to try and escape my chest from pressing against it so that my heart is even more compressed...
I try and try but I can't get out of this thing they call being depressed.
It isn't depression it's a mental suicide...

It's midnight.
I look out the window as my heart cries out for her to come lay beside of  me as I take in this breath taking sight.
The moon shining through the clouds as if it were a night that werewolf's would be sitting at the top of a cliff howling.
I choke back the tears as I close my eyes and hear her sweet voice calling me in the halls of our high school.
Memories flood my head... how she could take even the worst possible situations and make them as beautiful as this night.
I can't help but to think that she is staring at the moon as well and that in this moment we are once again connected.
I feel a warmness throughout my body as I think about the last time I saw her.
She was dressed up in costume getting ready to put on a play.
Even in Alice in Wonderland make up she was stunning.
What if she too is taking in this sight and thinking about me?
When the sun comes above the horizon will she too be thinking about me?
I fall asleep at night with her name on my breath.
I wake up saying good morning to her although she is not beside of me and is what seems like 1,000 miles away.
Call me crazy but I call it commitment.
I love her.
She is the song that I play on repeat within my chest.
I will be back in her arms one day and that night we will stare at the moon together.
I will fall asleep in her arms and we will make new memories together as we make love until sun up when I will tell my sweet good morning to where she will actually hear me.

She goes to the clothing department; they make her try on clothes from the junior’s girls section. The get frustrated with her because everything they hand her she tells them that she does not like. They patronize her... telling her that she is a girl she needs to dress in young girls clothes. What they don’t know is that this “girl” feels as if she wasn’t meant to have grown into a woman that they claim her to be. Her body screams young teen girl but her heart says otherwise. They tell her she might as well go to the guys section and pick out clothes because they give up. Her eyes lit up. All she ever wanted was to dress in what she felt was more her than anything. She smiles and starts to walk towards her dreams when they stop her and make her leave. The clothes she is wearing is only what they dream her to be. Nothing is good enough; nothing that she does seems to be what they feel she needs. So she writes, trying to hide the pain that they don’t know they are inflicting on her self-esteem. If they just knew the scars that they’ve drew onto her heart and soul. She cries at night only when she is alone because she feels it shows weakness. She slips on his clothes and she feels complete bliss. The pronouns they place upon her she knows are incorrect. They always put emphasis on “her, she and girl” all of the words send her heart into a whorle when she realizes… in her mind, her heart and soul she is no girl. She writes about her life and instead of using her, and she and girl she uses the words him, he and boy. In her mind, she tries to find a cure for what they think is a disease. In her room, down on the floor begging on her knees.. Please fix me. When in reality nothing is wrong with her. She was born into this world with the doctors rejoicing it is a healthy baby… girl. I did not cry because of the noise or the craving of my mother’s touch but I cried because his diagnosis was wrong… I was meant to be born a healthy baby… boy

I close my eyes at night, and everything fades to the memory of her and I in the bathroom at our high school.
Awkward silence fills the bathroom as we stand in front of each other.
Her in her greenday shirt, blue jeans, and converses looking stunning.
I was in my usual NWHS hoodie, skinnies, and my black op's.
She was biting her bottom lip and looking to her shoes as if she were begging me to touch her but too shy to say so.
She wasn't wearing her glasses that day and it made it so much easier to see how the light reflected off of her dark green eyes as her red hair slipped down the side of her face.
I slowly pushed it back into place behind her ear, she smiled her sideways smile that stole my heart the first time I saw it.
I walked closer to her and placed my hand on the cool tiles above her head trying to act all smooth, but she knew better.
I gently pressed my lips to hers as she quickly backed away after our lips made contact.
I stepped back thinking that I'd done something wrong.
When she slipped her hand so sweetly up my arm to my neck and leaned in once again as our lips moved up and down against each other.
Her lips were as soft as satin and yet so heated like the sheets on a bed after someone has slept in them all night.
She tasted like sweet melons, but blamed it on her gum.
I made my way down to her neck as she cringed begging me no no not there as if she knew I was starting something that I couldn't finish... at school.
I bring my attention back to her lips when the bell rang for me to go back to my third block.
When I walked away and turned the corner I had to stop and lean against the wall to catch my breath and realize I just kissed the girl that I fell for back in fourth grade...
And she like d it... my dream.. became a memory that will soon be reality again.