i smell earthy
like wood
and the logs that i brought in
ignoring the shaking in my arms
from all the weight
and i didn’t complain
because the wood chips
and splinters
stuck in my sweatshirt
hide the stench
of unwashed hair and skin
and the ever encompassing
fear

and i wonder why
my fingers and palm are not
big or strong enough
to grasp a log with one hand
and heft it up on top of
the others already held
in my trembling arm
but my hand is big enough
to dwarf a child’s

and warm their small hands
between my own
the way their small fingers
clasp onto mine
make me want to cry
because to be needed
and wanted so desperately
and wholly by someone
is a feeling
that i am not
used to

That's right
*******
my body
my skin
this flesh prison
is mine alone
and just because I
swam down the length
of your birth canal
does not make me
your property

I am a poet
am I
really
well I guess I
could be

I know how to
write in stanzas
and hit the ENTER key

My fingers
and the sides of my hands
are ink-stained
cut me open
and I bleed
blue black and red

I have learned
to tame the demons
in my head
with a well-placed
smattering of words

I can write worlds
into existence
and if I really tried
I could write down stars
into a jar
to hold on the coldest
of nights

So yes
I am a poet
an author
a keeper of words

Something that really disgusts, and ruins shows for me, is when the writer's resort to demonizing transgender people as a shock factor. This has happened in Criminal Minds, and X-Files, and most likely a lot of other shows I've watched, that I don't care to remember right now. It is literally just so tactless, and horribly transphobic, and, for some of us, it can be triggering. I am not a monster. My brothers and sisters are not monsters. But, how we are treated by the media, THAT IS MONSTROUS. I am not a shock factor or a scare tactic. I do not go bump in the night. I am up close and personal. I am real. I am a human being, too. And, most of all, I am sick and tired of crap like this happening. It all leaves a bad taste in my mouth.

the moon stayed inside this morning
she must have been
bringing you home

the first time i pledged my allegiance
to something that i didn’t believe in
i was in kindergarten
it was my first day in a real school
not just preschool
and everything was so big
it smelled new
and the floor still squeaked
under my shoes
but then the teacher had us stand up
behind our desks
we put our hands over our hearts
and faced the flag hanging near the
door at the front of the classroom
little hands over even smaller hearts
and i lied my way through it
because i knew
even back then
that there was not
liberty and justice
for all

this went on for years
and every time i said those words
every time i pledged my allegiance
to that piece of fabric
i felt sicker and sicker
and it made me even more angry
because it was so unfair
and watching the news made
me cry
and the world
was still eating itself alive
and all i did was stand there
with my hand over my heart
and mouth along to the
words that my classmates
said with such conviction
but with such robotic tones

then i stopped
sure i still stood for the pledge
during assemblies
but there was nothing left
in me
i had no more belief
and allegiance to give
to this flag
because it was not a symbol
of strength and togetherness to me
no not anymore
it only reminded me
of how different i was
and when the pledge was spoken
when our trust was promised
people like me
were not included in that liberty and justice

The most accurate tag on a blog post that I have ever used has been #transgenderRAGE.
2. The first hospital psych ward that I went to, they put a little sign on my room door that had PRIESTLY typed out on it with little puppies on the sign.
3. The orderlies there used male pronouns and referred to me as Priestly. Which made me feel better.
4. But, when I confronted the main doctor there, name rhymed with “cranberry,” he accused me of using identifying as a trans male as a diversion tactic.
5. I hated him, but bull shat my way through the sessions and got discharged after a week.
6. Months later, cue the next hospital visit. This time, it was just a diversion tactic so I didn’t off myself. Had my therapist drive me down there, I was surprised that she didn’t put on the child locks. Though, I never have thought of throwing myself from a moving vehicle.
7. In that ward, they just couldn’t accept the fact that, even though it wasn’t on my birth certificate, that my name was Priestly.
8. They used parenthesis, quotation marks, and had Sarla as my first name on my door.
9. My name is not a parenthesis.
10. My name is not a quotation mark.
11. My name is NOT Sarla. Though that is a beautiful name. San skrit for precious and all.
12. I am not a thing to be swept under the rug. I am not a girl. I am a boy. My name is Priestly. Do not down play me. I am not a “diversion tactic.” I am a living, breathing, feeling, beautiful boy.
13. My name is Priestly.