empty, cry and
kiss, thus feel
no shroud
of melancholy

lightning
thunder
shiver & collapse
murmur, shudder
or howl
through it

at seven years old
when a switch was thrown
and suddenly i knew that
something wasn’t quite right
i did not feel courageous

i was so scared
feeling nailed inside
this coffin of a body
that no longer felt like mine

there were no words
that my tongue could wrap around
to verbalize how wrong it felt
when i was called daughter
so i swallowed that bitterness
and felt it like a
twisting knife in my guts

and i did not feel courageous
i did not feel brave
as i clawed my way out
of that pink box i had been
involuntarily thrown into

but i have been told that
i am brave
i am courageous
i am strong
for being transgender
and i don’t know what
to do with that

and it was not bravery
that had me telling my mother
i needed her credit card number
to buy a cheap chest binder
off of amazon
because i was really a boy

i had decided i would
not be dying as a woman
and be buried in a nice dress
with the wrong name
and gender on my tombstone

i decided then
standing in the kitchen
of the little cabin we lived in
16 years old and terrified
that i would make myself
into a bright light of a boy

and i really don’t think
of that as being a courageous act
it was one of preservation
of finally deciding that
living was better than surviving

and the funny thing is
that makes people see me as brave
and i don’t know what to do with that
because i was scared then
and i have been scared since

the only difference is
i am going to live long enough
this time around
so that i just might be
able to see what people mean
when they tell me i am brave

sometimes my girl-hood
feels like a festering wound
a dark closet full of cobwebs
and dresses that never felt right

it was looking in the mirror
and there was hair down
to my *** that i screamed
when my mom tried to brush
and put bows in it

that face was not mine
a body that suddenly became
soft in places it had once been flat
and i could no longer run around shirtless
pretending i was one of the boys
before i knew what it meant

and everytime i played house
with the girls i harbored secret crushes on
i was the father
the son
the brother
the strange uncle that might be a vampire

i was the prince and i would
rescue the princess and still look
handsome with blood and dirt
on my face and clothes

and then something split open
inside of me and i almost
passed out in an old navy
because my body rioted
against this pain that
was so new and so red
and so heavy that
i became anemic multiple times

these unwanted and unwelcome changes
had me looking for an EXIT sign
that kept blinking off when i needed it most
and all i wanted to do was
grow hair on my face
and my chest
and for my voice to drop
into a sound that i could
hear without hating it

and the first time i
pulled this black tri-top fabric
over a chest that was always
too big to be seen as pectorals
it took my breath away
and hurt so quickly
but when i looked in the mirror
i saw a young man

i finally saw this boy
that grew up being told
he was a girl
and being called a name
that never felt right

i finally saw this boy
that knew who he was
before he knew his times tables
and that wound
gaping with years of hurt
scabbed over that much more
and he was able to
stand up a little straighter

i finally saw this boy
looking back at me
and he was
my god he is
so happy
to be alive

you were my first kiss
and you made my
bottom lip bleed

and i remember thinking
standing inside the tornado
that was my bedroom
you must be a vampire
and my god
i want to marry you

do you remember when
we stopped talking for the
first time and i told you
to come find me when we
were both done being stupid kids
and i would get you a ring?

my heart isn’t sure
if that offer still stands
too busy working on
fixing all the chunks
you ripped out

but i could never stay
mad at you
and i think you know that
i just love you too much

but you won’t ever love me
the way that i love you
with the “IN” before the “L”

so i keep writing you
****** poems that i may not
ever let you read
and the words act as
band-aids for all those little
tiny wounds that i keep
on coming back for

because someday
my heart and i will be able
to let go of you
but today is not that day

I do not remember the name of the hospital, only that there was no 13th room.
When I asked one of the nurses why, she told me it was because 13 is unlucky.
The two other psychiatric wards I’ve stayed in also skipped that number, so it must be true.

I don’t want to be here.

I don’t know where I want to go, but this ward is making my eye twitch.
There are locks on all the bathrooms, and no toilet seats.
The food isn’t terrible, but the calories next to each menu item make me feel fat.
How long have I been here?

Everything blends together, and my count of the days feels inaccurate.
My skin feels too tight.

I ask the handsome nurse, who hands me my little paper cup of pills, why he has braces.
He tells me he was in the Navy, and had to take them off for that.
He has a nice smile.
He asks to see if I swallowed my pills, and I stick out my tongue.

I don’t want to be here.

i think that if you asked
my love
i would take my binder
off for you

being unbound and
entirely open in your presence
that sounds like heaven
if only to me

because you are the eye
of a hurricane
and i am caught
in an orbit around you

and it’s not so bad sometimes
because that turning
of the whole body is like
the butterflies you cause

and i could be a rosebush
if you asked me to be
grow you the loveliest flowers
even on the coldest winter days

and even if you never
picked any of my flowers
i would still leave them in a vase
to greet you in the morning

because i want
you to be happy
even if it is
not with me