i grew tired of haunting
the girl?
that i used to be

banging pots and pans
in the middle of the night
so many sleepless hours trying to
find a name for what
for how
i felt

this was one waiting game
i was not willing to wait out
perched at the end of
my little twin bed
watching a younger version
of myself toss and turn
sweating out the nightmares

that constant question of why
and how long would this last
keeping my dentist in business
with all those hairline stress fractures
in my clenched jaw
teeth splintered into something sharper

but never sharp enough
to gnaw through the
trapped and infected limb
that was feeling stuck
in a body that was not mine
and maybe never had been?

i waited for that little girl
to wake up in the body of
a young man

i waited for her to
open his eyes in the
dawn of a new day
and be coming home
into this body
into himself

and i am so glad i did

i breathe life
into the distant ocean
and the green, green trees

these entities take on
shapes that only i can see
like lovers that are always
too far to touch

and how i long for you
standing on a sandy shore
rolled jean cuffs soaked through
with briny water
stuck to my skin with dried salt
and i want you to lick it off

i ache for you
want to feel rough bark
under my hands
the romance of tucking
a single dandelion behind your ear
and biting your bottom lip
in place of a goodbye

i long for you
like a tree sapling climbing
ever closer to the sun
like an old-timey boat
captain missing the swells
and breakers of the ocean

i long for you
and it kind of scares me
how big this want is
as i write you into
the leaves like they were the
first time i put on my glasses

like watching the ocean
recede into the distance
with salty sand under my nails
and in my socks
taking parts of you with me
like the comfort in knowing
i can always go back

the ocean calls to me
in a voice that sounds like yours
playful waves soaking the cuffs of
my tattered jeans

cold sea breezes kiss the
skin of my knee
through the patch you sewed
over the jagged hole
but even those stitches are
unraveling now

and i think i see you
out past the breakers
waving at me like we’re some
long-lost lovers in black and white
and i’m running after your train

but my well-loved boots
become too big
and the hard concrete rushes to
meet the tender skin of
the palms of my hands
of my exposed knees

impact takes my breath away
like when i saw you the first time
on dry land and sitting next to me
and i wanted to hold your hand
so much it made me ache

i want you
because i am a selfish human
i yearn for you
with the tenderness of a poet
and i will follow where
you lead me

out past the breakers
boot tracks left on the sandy shore
your siren song calls to me
and i answer every time

i remember the day
after you died
how the voice over the
intercom was choked with tears
and my heart caught in my throat

you were only a year
older than i was
and your soul was already
too big for your body

i immortalized you in ink
on my right shoulder
it almost made your parents cry
++++++
i remember the day
i was told that you had died
taken your own life
and the sun had yet to rise

it felt fitting
no bright light to
disturb the tears that fell from
my eyes and into my hands

and i think about you sometimes
like the smile you always shared
how easily you laughed
how that could have been me
that could have been me
++++++
i remember the day
that i read about how you had died
taken your own life
older than me but still too young

i never met you
but you found a place in my heart
and that spot still aches
sitting on my carpet
and sobbing until i gagged

it’s been a year
or maybe two
can’t say for sure but
i still think i see you
almost gotten off the bus before
and isn’t that something?
++++++
we were all just kids
if only for a moment
all growing in our own ways
and then you all just
stopped

i cried for you first
and then both of you
and i cried for myself

that could have been me
that could have been me
that could have been me

the blood in me loves you
and other sweet nothings
i can make real
simply by speaking them, lover

with your head in my lap
my hands in your long hair
and the night fraying at the
edges around us

giving way to dawn
for the second time
what a treat to watch it
become light once again
with you

and other sappy ****, too
because that’s what i’m good at
putting more poetry
and romance into whatever
it is we have

whatever it is
we had
than there ever could have been

and sometime it feels like
all that’s left between us is
an empty bottle of ***
two ***** shot glasses
and the shaking of my hands
the aching of my teeth

and what an ending that is,
lover

what an ending this is
giving back the time
i had tried to borrow
for us

sometimes
love just isn’t enough
and that really ******* *****

such an emotion gets too
much credit for what
it is and isn’t able to do

love won’t stop a bullet
can’t hold back a knife
from opening up skin
like a second mouth
won’t stop you from leaving

and that’s the thing isn’t it?
love won’t always be enough
and god knows
i wish it were
with all of my being

i think we deserve a
happy ending, lover
don’t you?

i want an ending
that doesn’t leave me
with an ache

with a rawness that i
have yet to discover how to
keep from festering

and i loved her
and i loved him
and i love you
so much it left a mark
but that just wasn’t enough

and there is only so
much of me
of my love
i can give before i’ve
finally been hollowed out

i don’t think my love
will be enough
even then, lover

and that’s something
i’ll just have to
learn to
live with

but right now
it really ******* hurts

i want to kiss you
do you know that, lover?
and not just when i’m drunk
though i’d be more likely
to ask then

and the pocket-sized
bottle of tequila i drank
isn’t the only thing
making my guts warm

but the way you look at me
laying down fully on your couch
because i think i’m funny
makes me realize that i
wouldn’t mind waking up to you
coming home to you

makes me realize that
maybe i’m in too deep
but i passed the shallows
months ago

floating on my back
and holding out my hand
maybe hoping that
our hands will touch
is that really too much to ask?
lover?

mama didn’t raise no quitter
but she sure as hell
raised a fool

i am a fool
for hope
for love
for you

and for this
bottle of *****
like drinking the whole
thing will actually help
and not just make me
puke my brains out
later

and i have so much
love to give
but mostly to those
that don’t know what
real and true
love is

and the chokehold
hope has on me
only tightens

but i have learned
to let it, lover
eating matches to
burn off the darkness
inside and leave only
love and light and hope
and you you you

my sorrow is a monster
ten feet tall
all beady eyes and
teeth sharper than razor blades
nipping at my heels

i cannot run fast enough
to evade this black wave
that has only grown with me

nestled up against my ribcage
like vines crushing the life from
a once mighty tree
covered in all these hurts

but it wasn’t always this way
some monsters aren’t
just the way they are
some monsters are made

and this monster was nurtured
a catalogue of things i can’t fix
things i can’t change
things that were done to me

and there’s only so much
i can drink
only so many painkillers
i can swallow
before i feel nothing at all

my sorrow is not my friend
these claws only know how to
rend and tear
never knowing a touch that
was anything other than cold

this choke-chain i hold
in my shaking hands
hardly seems like enough to
contain such a beast

and i don’t want to be
like my parents
i don’t want to be
like you, lover boy
drowning my sorrow in
whatever i can reach

my sorrow will not
make me as monstrous
as this darkness so
often feels

you hurt me
you selfish
*******
*******

i was just a kid
a young boy wondering
where his father was

telling the other kids in
my kindergarten
first
second
and third grade classes
that i didn’t have a father

and that never felt like a lie
seeing as you never had
the time for parenting
media and fiction told me
what a father should be

and you never did live
up to that
the image i had in my head
of what it meant
for a father to be loving

and
and
and
i am drunk

i am drunk
and angry
and hurting

but never enough to
pick up the phone
not that you would ever call
and not that i would ever answer

and i am still licking
the wounds that an absent
childhood left behind
wondering when this
void will close
waiting for a scab to form
that is no longer so **** flimsy

and my tattoo artist tells me
that his father was like mine
but also worse
and when his father died
everything he felt for him
died, too

and
and
and
i wonder if that will
happen to me, too

will all the memories
the hurt outweighing the good
finally burn out?
will i stop longing for
something i never had?

will the fact that
you never wanted me
as a daughter
or as a son
stop aching
so **** much?

will you have to die
for me to no
longer
be afraid?

i will render you
in word
in ink
in the trembling of my hands
and the racing of my heart beat

you will be sculpted
in the most loving way
taking extra care on
your pretty eyes
and soft lips
and crooked teeth

i want your grin to
be a mirror image of
the one that feels saved
just for me
but that’s probably silly

if you’ll allow me
i’m gonna draw forth all
the beauty i see in you
so maybe you’ll see it too

all the love i harbor
for you
shining through
my fragile and human ribs
parting like tree limbs
for this bright light

we can stand under
this burning sun together
you and i, lover

and i will render you
with all the care and tenderness
these shaking hands of mine
are capable of

i still don’t know
if i have been able to properly
express the sheer terror

of being seven years old
and realizing i liked girls
but that i
myself
was not a girl

words like homosexual
and transgender
did not exist to me
and were adamantly not
taught about in schools

this lack of knowledge
not knowing that i could
be anything beyond that
six letter word on
my birth certificate

the only conclusion
i was able to come to
as a scared child
was that i must
have been a
freak

there was something wrong
with me and within me
feeling my guts twist
every time i was called
a girl and not knowing why
it hurt so bad

and now
as a young man
i am able to find words that
downplay this nine years
of confusion and turmoil
shaping that pain into
something that is palatable

i do not have to do this
nor should i be expected to

but it is easier than saying
i was hellbent on destroying
the body i had because it
was not what it was supposed to be

it is easier than saying
i was willing to die
as a girl

if that meant the pain would stop

there is blood in my mouth
i know it is my blood
could be from
tooth cheek nail
throat raw from crying

my hands are shaking
a catalogue of sensations
that are making
my knees weak

and i know you’re
talking to me
can see your mouth moving
think i hear my name
but can’t be sure

there is blood rushing
in my ears
through the frantic beating
of my heart

and i just want it
to slow down
keep from stumbling
over itself when
i think of you

and you’re still talking
i think it’s to ask
if i’m okay
and i want to ask back

what do you want
me to say?
what do you want
to hear from me?

because it hurts
it hurts
it hurts
it hurts

i know how this goes
well-versed in the concepts of
unrequited
un-reciprocated
and unavailable

this is a dance
i know all the steps to
leaning towards you
across a well-loved table
like ocean waves
against the shore

two fires rage
in all the blood in my body
rushing to my face
and the alcohol in my
otherwise empty belly
wrapping myself in a cloak
of courage

and i know how this goes
you know of my attraction
you are flattered by this
you cannot reciprocate this

and this stopped being fun
a little bit ago
spending my nights with tears
in my eyes
wondering why i am always the
one to fall

i guess we are all
shackled to things
in one way or another
ya know?

i am shackled
to my own heart
and firmly tied to hope

so close that it
has me in a choke-hold
that i am no longer fighting against

and i know what you are
shackled to, my dear
this deep and aching sadness
that is only made for you
to carry

and i will carry this
torch for you
for now

at least
until my heart decides
to listen to my head again
and i fall back on all
those “un’s”
like i always seem
to do

i can be gone when you wake
if you want me to be

it helps that you sleep in
choosing not to greet
the dawn twice

and i don’t know how
to ask if you still
want to see me
once the alcohol is gone

some things are easier to say
to do
when liquid courage sloshes
around in my belly

like forcing my tongue
to cooperate into the words
needed to lay
my heart on the table

trusting you to do with it
with my confession
with my affection
with me
what you will

and i want to bring you flowers
and other silly little things
that i hope you’ll keep
but i opt for other things
that can be shared
though made with you
in mind

and i wonder if this
will go anywhere
beyond sharing drinks
and so many words

and i wonder
if whatever we have
did go further
would either of us
be able to stand it?

my heart just so
happens to be a
muscle the size
of my fist

but my heart is
so much softer
than all this cartilage
and bone that i can
break against
so many different things

and i want to be soft
to be full of love and
light and the reason
that you smile

is that selfish of me?
i am still trying to answer
that question
but none of my answers
are agreeing with me

at least there is no
more guilt
curdling in my guts
along with the wanting
to kiss you

and i want you to
taste your name
on my tongue
make me bleed

with the force of
your mouth against mine
and i will thank you
with our blood
mingling on my chin

with my heart
fluttering against the
cage of my ribs
beating a soft rhythm
to the sound of your name

you ever just get distracted
by how nice you look shirtless?
because this is a new thing to me
admiring what a skilled surgeon
was able to craft out of
so much extra
wasted
useless
skin

and i spent 9 years
clawing at the inside
and outside
of my body
trying to cut out
what made me feel so trapped
and wrong

i was not nice
to my body
this vessel that houses
the very essence of who
of what
i am

i did not know how
to love the peaks
and valleys of flesh that
i only wanted gone
soft in what felt like
all the wrong places

and i am still learning
to love this body
sculpted into a form
i know how to live with
to live in

pt.2
and i am apologizing
to all the parts of me
that bore the brunt of
this journey to
the man i was always
meant to be

this is a love letter
to my body
to the scars where my
******* used to be
that a dear friend
and then my mother
carefully bandaged for weeks
when i couldn’t bear to
look at them

this is for my
soft tummy
my thighs that jiggle
when i walk
for every part of me
that i once hated

this is for being able
to look at myself
in the mirror
and speak softly about
the softest parts of me

this is a love letter
to the little girl i never was
to the little boy i yearned to be
to the man i have become
and the body that carried me

this body that
sustained me
and this body that
refused to die

a friend asks me
as i lean against the bar
gnawing on what is left
of my thumbnail
what my plans are for
father’s day

i laugh in the way
that is more than
a little painful
a short bark of mirth
and tell her that
i will be
saving money

i say this too quickly
ignoring the lump
that has formed in my throat
over years of missed birthdays
and happy memories ending
around the time i realized
that my father was
no longer my hero

it’s almost too easy
to joke about these things
i haven’t seen my father
in almost three years
i got both the ****** tattoos
he did when i was angsty
and suicidal and 17
covered with prettier pictures

i can laugh about it
saying i know my father hates me
because he doesn’t deserve
anymore of my tears
than i have already shed
over his lack of love

but it hurts
ya know?
it hurts like a scraped knee
when you’re too old for
a wound to be kissed better

and other metaphors
i use to cover the
fact that there is an ache
in my chest
a hole i am trying to fill

but i have nothing
to fill this hole with
because all i know of
having a father is what
i watched on tv
and read in books

and i am still trying to
figure out how i am
supposed to feel about this man
who i see whenever i look in the mirror
that didn’t want me as a daughter

and sure as hell
doesn’t want me
as a son
either

i want you as a lover
and isn’t that selfish of me?
here with all my unrequited love
i am still trying to choke down
like the ache of you
not being able to
love me back

and i don’t want nakedness
no skin on skin
aside from cupping the side of
your face in the palm
of my shaking hand

i want to feel your breath
remnants of coffee and cigarettes
a candle burned at both ends
watching the sun rise twice
in the same day

and i won’t try to hold your hand
run my fingers through your hair
kiss you with all the tenderness i have
or try to make you stay
but ******* i want to

my body was never a sacred thing
less of a small church out in
the middle of the desert
and more of a building
burned out from the inside
and ravaged by the
unforgiving sands of time

my body was this shell
that i was forced into
nobody asking if the label
that was slapped onto it
was the one that fit

and i broke my nails
on the walls
trying to claw my way out
never able to cut deep enough
to find what it was that
made me hate myself

spending years grasping
for breath
is hard to explain
but my skin bears
the scars of
trying to find the real me

my body was never
meant to be a temple
and i certainly didn’t
ever treat it like one
spending all my time
trying to get out
of what didn’t fit

i was not born into
a body that
felt like what
a home should
be

and it took me years
of building this body
from the ground up
rounding off the sharp edges
with careful touches
and so many apologies

this body of mine
was never meant to
be a church
or a burned out husk
waiting to be forgotten

my body is a worn
pair of boots
socks with holes in the heel
that i can’t bear to part with
a smile after the tears
crooked teeth and all

i built my body back up
into something that i
could live in
without wanting to
needing to
tear it apart

this has taken me years
and i am so tired
but more than that
i am finally
finally
finally
home

i take myself out to dinner
to a place i know i like
because i made sure to
write the name down

i’ll be 5 minutes early
maybe bring flowers if
the right kind is in bloom
just to see myself smile

and i’ll wear my nicest boots
a button-up with the
least amount of paint
and blood on it

clean-shaven, i’ll pull
out my own chair
order my favorite ******
light beer and even
splurge on dessert

i’ll make sure i know
that i am wanted
that i am worthy

that i am loved
loved
loved

i don’t know how to
make the pain of
my father’s abandonment
stop hurting

this is a wound
covered by a flimsy scab
prone to cracking
and seeping through the dressings

i have so many questions
and no answers
all this speculation
years of blaming myself for
his not knowing how to
not wanting to
be a father
be MY father

and i was just a kid
telling my classmates that
i didn’t even have a father
because he lived states away
while that void grew
bigger and darker inside me

and it has been nearly
three years since the last time
i saw my father
even though we live in the
same ******* town

but this is not the first time
that contact have been lost
it just never started again
since i stopped reaching out
and finally put myself first
where my father is involved

just because you’re someone’s
father doesn’t mean you’re a dad
and i can’t remember when i stopped
seeing his face when i thought
of having a dad
but it’s been too **** long

and it feels strange
to even call him my father
but that’s about as informal as
i can get without calling him
by his first name
ya know?

and maybe i’m just
searching for closure
an apology that will never come
that reassurance that i wasn’t a bad kid
the promise that it’s not my fault

and maybe if those things are
said with enough conviction
by the right person
at the right time
i’ll believe them

i just want this
to stop
hunched over at my desk
crying until my lungs hurt
wondering what i did wrong
i was just a kid

i was just a kid
and i needed a father
i needed a dad

but i won’t force him
to be my father
to be in my life
because he clearly doesn’t want to
doesn’t know how to

and all i want right now
is to find a way for
the wound that this prolonged
cycle of abandonment left
to stop bleeding through my shirts

i want to stop seeing his face
whenever i look in the mirror
i want to stop asking myself why
i want to stop blaming myself
because i was just a kid

i was just a kid

my friend tells me that
i look younger
and clarifies that it’s
like i’m more at ease
not so tense anymore

i almost say
“i love you”
because in that moment
my heart is so full of
love it could burst

but instead i make a
joke about my age
to hide that i am
so close to weeping
right then because of
how right they are

and i did weep
on that day
sitting on a friends bed
with my chest wrapped
in bandages and my
head in my hands

i wept since it
was finally over
so many years of
breaking my knuckles against
the cage of the gender
some doctor assigned
me at birth

and my friend was right
with what they said
i do feel younger
less like 21 going on 40
and more like
coming home

after being away
for just too long

being tattooed for the sixth time
by the same artist
and as a grouping of seven
to nine needles drives ink
into my skin again and again
my tattoo artist and i
talk about how
pain forces you to become
aware that you are present
in your body

i am not just a meat puppet
piloted from afar
i am the gray matter inside my skull
the blood in my veins
the scars on my arms
my body fits together so well

my fingers slot together
like they were meant to be
crooked on one side from
a heavy old car door
where you cried more than i did
because hurting other people
is such a terrible feeling

i still think our fingers
fit together better
mine clammy from fear
and yours warm because of
the fear you were shedding
with every step we took together

and all my parts
attached as they should be
like my hand on your face
yours in my hair
back to back on a mattress
better fit to one
but i never felt as warm as
i did with your body
pressed against mine

and my heart skipped beats
like your lips pulled me back
into my body
from where ever i had been

my breath and yours
mixing like they were always
meant to ya know

if i could somehow
climb inside the shield
that our love creates around us
everything interlocked
like it’s meant to be
then i would be
even more okay

and i am trying to
find a way to tell you
all this without my voice shaking
though that may take some time

which is all we have left
between us now

you tell me to
follow my heart
and i almost say
“i love you”

sitting next to you
at a table which holds more
sentimental value than i could
ever possibly understand
i want to reach out
and touch your hand

but i bite my tongue
alcohol thrumming in my veins
almost enough courage to
tell you how i feel

and instead i say
forcing a laugh
“my heart has a ****
sense of direction”

because how do i tell you
that this map i hold
in my shaking hands
always leads back to you

i have already made myself
so very vulnerable where
you and i are concerned
and i don’t want to
scare you away

following my heart
is bad advice
meant to be caring
and that makes this hurt even more
all this pent-up affection
threatening to overflow

but i am holding it back
with clenched fists and
an aching tongue from
all the times i almost
told you how i really feel

and i don’t know how to
make this pining sound poetic
when i am so good at unrequited
love love love
and wanting to hold
you close

there is a darkness
harbored by my ribs
an ivory cage

and i am eating matches
like over-salted french fries
trying to burn
it off

but this isn’t
a movie
and this is not a bid to
die with my lover

my mattress is only
big enough for one
and there just aren’t enough
blankets to simulate the
warmth of another body
laying next to mine

scuffed boots leave streaks
of dirt on striped sheets
like i have somewhere to be
someone to go to
when i can’t sleep

but the sun rises
shines into bleary eyes
and if i squint
the shaft of light
arcing across my carpet
looks like it could be you

that darkness could also
arguably be in the shape of
you and i am still trying to
figure out if that place
is something i should be
ridding myself of
or holding close
with both hands

and these matches are
nowhere near as sweet
as your lips were
on that dark night

but i am shining
bright now
maybe enough for you
to see

and if you don’t
well
then that’s okay
too

my boots are up on the
dashboard of your car
dried mud on the soles
stuck in the treads
but i don’t think you mind

because we’re going to
the coast and you’re singing
along with the songs on the
radio like we do this
all the time

and your voice is scratchy
in a way that makes my teeth hurt
but i realize it’s not a metaphor
i’ve just been clenching my jaw

a coil of nerves
tightening around the cold and
greasy food that we
decided to call breakfast

this is not a foreign feeling
just one i have grown unaccustomed
to having
this guilt over who i love

‘cause i’m way too good
at trapping myself in unrequited pining
unable to figure out if you
care enough not to point it out
or if you’re really just
that oblivious

but none of that matters now
because all i want to do
is run my hands
that may or may not be shaking
through the curls in your hair

and you might even let me
this time

i had top surgery
on Monday the 28th
and i hardly remember any
of it

that morning my grandmother
woke me up
said she loved me
my grandfather asked if he could
pray for me

and the night before we had
toasted to a speedy recovery
with white russians
which I still think smell
like sharpie markers
but that might be just me

and i didn’t call my father
he didn’t know the date
the day and hour
when i would go under the knife
for the first and only time

it’s been a few weeks since
i last shaved
and hairs are finally starting to
appear under my bottom lip
and this time i will not
panic because of how much
i resemble him

because my granny in texas
said i was handsome like him
and that almost made me cry
but also lessened the sting
of his absence

and a hole that feels less gaping
having nothing to do with the
breast tissue that was cut out of me
the steri-strips and incisions on my sides
to accommodate the drains
like they’re taking out more than blood
and viscous fluid

the hurt from him
grows less as my chest
my male chest
heals more each day

and i don’t think of how
he maybe won’t recognize me
one day and that’s okay
maybe for the best

because i am so much more
than the daughter
and then the son
he did not want
nor know how to love

i am growing into my
own man that i was always
meant to be

and it feels so good
making a place in this
body that finally feels like home

i am looking for god
in places i saw him
fleeting and peripheral

hidden in the gaps of his teeth
when he smiles
and how her fingers slotted perfectly
in between my own

the knife in my shaking hand
has a white flag tied around the handle
indents of jagged teeth in my bottom lip
not knowing if the blood on my tongue
belongs to me

and that first time we held hands
my heart sprouted wings
tried to escape the cage
of my chest
searching for the light
that you exuded

i am looking for god
and he sat next to me
leaning up against a bedroom wall
long forgotten by now
with her head in my lap
fingers carding through long hair
i counted her freckles
and god said they were like
constellations trapped under the skin
and i think he may be right

i have briefly found god
not in houses of worship
but on the lips of others
kisses in bedrooms
school hallways
standing in the middle of
empty and darkened streets

the feeling they brought out in me
it felt so close to holy
i could have wept

and my grasp on the knife
is becoming less severe
ready to bury it in the ground
watch a forest grow out of it
that fear of a god that
felt more like another absentee father
than someone i could pray to

but i found him
when i looked into your eyes
and was met with an openness
i would have gladly drowned in

i found him
in your laugh
your warm embrace
your calloused hands
your lips against mine

i found god in
you you you

my word is my gospel
a body made up of snatches
of conversations
kind words from chapped lips
various pen inks
staining the skin of my hands
and blunted fingertips

believing so fiercely in a love
that i can only hope believes
in me too

and i think a lot about empty spaces
so many voids to fill
like how your hand would fit
in mine
and we could laugh about my sweaty palms

like how a girl
i loved held my hand that first time
and said she wasn’t afraid
she wouldn’t be ashamed
walking by people in a crowded mall
and flipping through baby name books
like we deserved a future together

i think about your cold feet
wondering if there are holes
in socks that you keep forgetting
to sew and wishing there
were a way to close
those gaps of darkness
nestled between your ribs

we could plant flowers there
ya know
plants i promise not to ****
painting a black thumb green
if only to see you smile

and i think about kissing you
i think about it a lot
but i don’t have that kind of courage
still trying to believe in love
like i did as a child

writing that darkness into
something tender and soft
smoothing out those jagged edges
like carding fingers through your
messy hair

filling those gaps with
sunshine and smiles
and your name on my lips
a new favorite taste

giving myself a happy ending
and that’s okay

i am
--am i?--
yeah, i think i am

drunk drunk drunk
and signing myself up for
selective service so i
will be able to access my financial
aid and not have to cough up
almost $2,000 for one term
that me and my bank account
just really do not have, ya know?

and that little dropdown menu
well it doesn’t offer the option of:
“i am being forced to sign up for this
so i can afford college”
because i guess that sounds less
appealing than my being recruited
during lunch while i watched my fellow
(cis) male students dislocate their shoulders
doing pull ups so the older boys in uniform
would be proud of them and
maybe even give them a
nice little lanyard

because after over $100 to get
the right name and gender marker
on my id and $60 to get a new
birth certificate
i’m male enough for the government
to want to make into cannon fodder
but i’m still not male enough to
use the men’s room without the
threat of being verbally harassed
or physically assaulted

and that just makes me so angry
because here’s “bone-spurs donnie”
a known draft dodger of
at least 5 times who had the money
to pay off any doctor he wanted
trying his hardest to ban trans
people from enlisting
to fight in a war backed by a country
that wants them dead

yet that little M on my id
that i paid so much for
makes me eligible to be blown
to bits or come back to
a country that doesn’t want me anymore
with my brains scrambled from
shell shock and ptsd

because this country is willing
to pretty much force-feed young men
into the bottomless belly of the
war machine

always stoking the fires of the
military industrial complex with
money and unscarred flesh
and so much lies
and so much fear mongering

and i am just so tired
of having to fill in that
little bubble with my ballpoint
pen and a click of the mouse
pledging what could easily be the
rest of my life to being
riddled with bullets
miles away from home

just so i can grab that
financial aid
that perpetual carrot being dangled
in front of my oh so
transgender and queer nose
so i can afford an education
and not become another statistic

another person that the
united states of amerikkka
has failed

i wrote this for you
did you know that?

i had been writing
for you since the first time
we met at ten years old
and i fell in love
with every part of you
and i wrote for you
until i fell out of love
like air rushing back into
my lungs after holding my breath
for years and years

i wrote this for you
not quite a poem
but little snippets here and there
keeping you up because
time zones and insomnia
calling you “my love”
and meaning it with all my being
in the way only a child can
and i am still asking myself why
it ended the way it did
when did you stop loving me?
why did you stop loving me?

i wrote this for you
probably the first time
i ever tried to rhyme in a poem
and it was terrible
but i meant every word
every time i said i love you
every letter you sent me
that i tacked to my wall
we are going to meet in person
and i am going to snot and cry
all over you ******

i wrote this for you
when you still loved me
still wanted me
what felt like more than you did
when i thought i was your daughter
and we would meet for lunch
and when you hugged me
you smelled like i did
when i was a child
and hadn’t seen you in months
that quickly became years
i felt safe in your arms
but i think i’m afraid of you now

i wrote this for you
and it was too romantic
for who you are
for who we are
as people and as a friends
and i told you i loved you
with my arms around your neck
because i thought i wouldn’t see
you again and i still wonder if
you heard me
but i’m not going to ask

i wrote this for you
with your hair bright as flames
eyes sparkling in the sun
you always smell like home
and i want to carry that with me
all the time because it makes
me feel safe
and loved

you make me feel
safe and loved

and i wrote this for you
with ink smeared on my
fingertips and my wrists
like the colors used to be when
i was a young boy
and some of it hurt
but more of it made me smile

Aren’t you all getting sick and tired
of hearing/seeing news to the tune of
a pathetic white man with a gun?

Aren’t you all sick and tired
of seeing children murdered
in cold blood?

Aren’t you all sick and tired
of seeing college students
and adults
murdered in cold blood?

Aren’t you all sick and tired
of minorities being gunned down
because they are minorities?

Aren’t you all sick and tired
of pathetic white men being called lone wolves
and mentally ill because of the color of his skin,
and making the stigma that actual mentally ill people
are violent even worse than it already is?

Aren’t you all sick and tired
of being afraid for your life,
your child’s lives,
your friends and family
that are minorities?

Because, as a mentally ill minority,
I sure as hell am.
As a transgender person,
a WHITE transgender person,
my life expectancy is already only 40.
And that’s not because I’ll **** myself.

America is going to drown
in the spilled blood and grief from children,
adults, and minorities being murdered,
because people place their right
to carry assault weapons
OVER OUR LIVES.

Children should not have to go through active shooter drills.
Parents should not be involuntarily outliving their children.
Minorities should not have to fear for their lives.

There is SUCH AN EASY SOLUTION TO THIS.
It’s not rocket science.
It’s gun control laws.
No one wants to take away your guns.

We just want to live.
Please.
We just want to live.

there is an empty stretch
of highway
somewhere deep in my bones
cracked tarmac and faded center line

dandelions blooming up out
of the divots of
my sleepless nights
and it is beautiful

and sometimes lonely
like being 7 years old
and knowing i like girls
but also that i am not a girl
and not having the words
to bring that part of me to life

and the first time i kissed a girl
flowers exploded out of
every chip in my armor
making me feel like i could
build a home in my own body
for the first time in 5 years

but everything burns eventually
and flower stems become matches
way too easily
and a hollowness beyond dissociation
something i couldn’t dig out
no matter how hard i tried

and the first boy i liked
i couldn’t tell if i wanted
to kiss him or be him
but both sounded pretty nice

and after the right man to
make me stop being a lesbian
turned out to be myself
the first boy i kissed was on accident
but i wanted to kiss him again
and that stretch of highway seemed less lonely
and more like it would accommodate two
people holding hands
walking side by side

i love you
and that’s what matters
even if you will never love me back
in that way
i just want you to know that
among other things
i am exceptionally good
at unrequited

but that hardly matters now
because there is a lump in
my throat and almost all
of my daydreams look like you

like being held in your arms
wrapping mine around your neck
and saying
i love you
for the first time
so quick that neither of us
were sure it was real

and i think of the holes
in your socks a lot
wondering if you have anyone
to **** them for you
and i promise not to
make them too ugly
if you let me fix them

and i want you to believe me
when i say you’re my friend
the only person i’m comfortable
with texting when i’m ****** up
on ***** and the devil’s lettuce
and if  you think that’s romantic
or a little creepy
then that’s okay

because you are so deserving
of so many good things
and i want to give them to you
with my whole heart
and i hope that just maybe
you won’t leave me standing there
holding that faithful
***** in my hands
while it cries out for you

but if you do
then that’s okay
too

****** any how
i’m a love poet
a hopeless romantic
heart on my sleeve
gladly rolling your name around
in my mouth like a marble
my teeth ache
from wanting you

and that’s okay
i’ll rub the pain
out of my jaw and
get back on my feet

and there are so many ways
for me to say
i love you
it’s rolling down my arms
black and blue ink
let me water your notebook
paper garden with all these
words of mine

i’ll love you through
everything and will
your jagged edges back together
because i’ve got so much
to give

let me forget how to
hate myself so much
as i hold you in my arms
we can sit and watch
the world for a little while

intertwine your fingers with mine
let’s anchor each other
at least for tonight
and you’ll believe me
when i tell you that
you are deserving of so much love

of everything you want
in this world

crash into me
be like waves against my sandy shore
bite my lip when we kiss
******* blood if you want
how your name sings through
every one of my veins
let it explode across your tongue
and your teeth will ache
with my name

keep your eyes open
look into mine
and see yourself reflected back
with all the love i
have for you

we’ll make each other feel alive
and other romantic cliches
like making your favorite breakfast
darning your socks
with your head in my lap
a hand in your soft hair
and a smile playing across
your slightly chapped lips

i might bend down to kiss you
pull you close
rub your back
just hold you there
a snapshot of
domestic bliss

let me be a hopeless
romantic a little bit longer
always too quick to love

lingering when you walk away
and maybe you’ll turn around
give me a little wave

and maybe you won’t
and maybe
it’ll be better
that way

you’re ahead of me in line
ordering food
a drink with too much sugar
maybe tickets to a movie
that you’re seeing alone

and i want to offer
to eat with you
sit next to you
you can rest your head
on my shoulder

and i’ll hold your hand
on top of the table
because our love
is nothing to be
ashamed of

i don’t know your name
but the way you put
flowers behind your ear
makes me want to
come home to you
year after year

and you’re sitting in
front of me on the max
you don’t notice me
almost falling asleep
against the headache inducing
rattle of the glass window
but the way you so carefully
spread tomato sauce onto
a lunchables pizza
makes my mouth water
makes me wish someone would
touch me like that

and i don’t know your name
but that doesn’t matter
because i’ll learn it when the
time is right and
buy you warm socks for winter
make you pancakes on your birthday
maybe even learn how to
make coffee that isn’t
an insult to the bean itself

and i don’t know your name
but i know you’re the type
of person
that i could fall
in love with

(if i only had the courage
to say hello)

i tell myself
i don’t care that
it’s been two years
since the last time
i saw my father

i tell myself
i don’t care that
he wasn’t even really
in my life until i was 7
and before that i just told
people i didn’t have
a father

i tell myself
i don’t care that
my father hates me

but i’m crying like
my dog just died
so it’s not very convincing

and i can pinpoint when
he stopped loving me
later on in my life
than i've thought for years

but can you really blame me
when he’s not around to ask?

and it’s this book he gave me
a memoir
the summer before i started
my freshman year of high school
where he called me his darling
and signed it “love, pops”

i read that book
last week
cried my way through
almost the whole thing
holding the bent pages and
cracked spine like i wanted
him to hold my hand again

but i did something
when i was growing up
to make him stop loving me
and for years i thought that
if i just went deep enough
i could dig it out
but that thing goes
deeper than my bone marrow

and he’s not around to ask
and i’m crying like an idiot
over this man that
probably won’t even know what
i look like
in 5 years or 10

and i have so many things
to ask him
to say to him
like why he didn’t want to be my father
why he wasn’t proud of me
why he doesn’t love my anymore

how i feel like it’s all my fault
and he probably agrees with me
and that might have made me
resent him
maybe even hate him
a year or two ago
but tonight
it just makes me cry
harder

i hug you
on tiptoes
with arms around your neck
like “girls do”
but i haven’t been a girl
since i was 7 years old
and i know that how you see me
doesn’t match up with
who i used to be

and the first time i
hugged you like that
i told you
i loved you
smelling like 11.5 hours
marinating in other people’s food
and you said you knew
when i said the day was horrible

and i want you to know
i didn’t mean for this to happen
heart eyes you don’t notice
talking about you like
you’re a new favorite book
pages i never want to stop
running my hands over
papercuts be ******

but i love you
for your long hair
black as ink
and other metaphors
and i wonder if you’d let me
run my fingers through it
like some cheesy romance novel

i love you
for your smile
and how you smile at me
still laughing at my lame jokes
about how queer i am

i love you
for how you said you
just have to
sing along to
in the danger zone and
the wall between us
hid a grin so wide
my cheeks hurt

and i love you
even though i know
this will never go anywhere
because i’m never going to
tell you

just how much i love you
just how much i want to kiss you
just how much i miss you
when you’re gone

and just how much i hope
you might love me back
enough to let me
be yours

your name leaves a bitter
taste in my mouth
this has happened before
but never with such
a sense of
finality

i remember when we
first met and i was
a closet lesbian and you
were the new girl with the
colorful skirts and long
brown hair that i wanted
to bury my face in

and you were my
first kiss
my first girlfriend
the first
and only
person i ever fell
in love with

you were also the
first person to break my heart
and break it again
and again
and again over the course
of the next ten years

but i was young and in love
and so naive
believing that we
deserved a happy ending
that i would marry you
that you would want
to marry me

i have been in love
with you for ten years
i loved you as a girl
as a lesbian
and then as a queer man
and i thought
i hoped
you loved me back

but i’ve fallen out of
love with you so fast
it stole my breath
like a punch in the gut
laying down on cold cement
until my breath stops
coming in shallow
painful gasps

i feel used up
like you took all i had
and gave nothing back
we were never meant
to be symbiotic
were we?

well here i am
saying goodbye to you
for what will be the last time
because i just can’t do this anymore
all this back and forth
are you or aren’t you?
are we or aren’t we?
is making my head spin

and i hope you are
able to claw your way out
of this rut before it becomes
your grave

but i am untethering myself
from the mast
of your sinking ship
and i am not
looking back

this isn’t my first rodeo
and by that i mean this
isn’t my first poetry slam
but my hands still shake
and sweat breaks out on my
upper lip and slides
down my spine
like cold fingers

the judge
the white
cisgender
heterosexual
old man judge
looks at me like
he’s trying to figure out
what i am and i want to
tell him that he’s not
the first person to ****
their head to the side at me

and my shoulders hurt
under the tight fabric
of my black chest binder
and i wonder if it
is showing through the
fabric of my white and pink
striped button up

i run a hand through my hair
bright and blond
and in your face
and wonder why all the poems
i read and write
fall under a category
that is not strictly
“family friendly”

maybe it’s because i
am a deeply angry person
from living in fear
since i was seven years old

or it’s because i
decided i was going to
be as loud as i could be
about being transgender
and queer
and mentally ill
because being quiet
felt like giving up

but this judge does not care
about how it felt to
kiss a girl for the first time
to fall in love with a girl
and then to fall in love with
that person again
outside the constrictions of gender

this judge does not care
because he cannot understand
and he does not want to
and this is a poetry slam that
i am not going to win
because the cards of the majority
are stacked against me

but i don’t care about
not winning
because my voice doesn’t shake
when i out myself to a roomful
of people in a town that
i am afraid to use the men's room in

and in that moment
i am not afraid
my voice is strong and loud
and these people are listening
and that judge
can’t hold a candle to the
bright light that burns within me

and just as i know this
he knows it too

i became the only boy
that i wanted to take
my shirt off for
step out of my pants
without falling over
and pull my socks off
one by one

i don’t really know
how this whole thing works
but it seems like dinner
would happen first
maybe i’d bring flowers
say how handsome i look outloud
and mean it

if i still had to wear a bra
i would buy a nice one first
splurge on something more
substantial than a sports bra
maybe something with
an underwire and little ribbons
show that part of me some love

and i would be slow about it
run my hands over this body
that dysphoria has always kept
me from exploring
with my own flesh against flesh

take the time to learn
all the curves and edges
of this vessel that has never
really felt like home
always too tight around
certain parts and too loose
in others

but that wouldn’t matter
because i would be a gentleman
and do this with the lights on
pull my shirt off
in a way that wasn’t rushed
and begging to be put back on
right after it would hit the floor
at my feet

and my knees wouldn’t shake
mapping out the parts of myself
i always wanted to cut off
and my breath wouldn’t falter
but go out easier than it had
in years

because i am the only boy
i ever wanted to take
my shirt off for
and i deserve to feel beautiful
and handsome
and fragile in some parts
because i am still here

******
i am still here

my gender dysphoria
plays the part of schoolyard bully
punching me in the face
with all the things i am doing
that make me less of a man

i spit something back
no room for being witty here
cotton candy pink and blue
stains my teeth
drips down my chin

girlhood feels like a rot
deep within this body
that i am slowly sculpting
into a shape
that doesn’t make me want to
hack it to pieces

but you call me “she”
and dysphoria gets in
another fist
and i can no longer tell
if i am crying
from the pain of you so
callously misgendering me again
and again and again
or the betrayal
because i thought we were friends

but you call me “she”
and so many things break inside me
seven year old me
feeling too big for a body that
is already like dragging
around a coffin
shrinks under the fear
of not knowing what i am

but you call me “she”
and dysphoria drives a foot
into my ribs
grows into this thing
that is too big for me to
keep inside and it comes
out as confrontation that all
too quickly gives way
to tears

because i did not
languish inside of myself
for nine years
stumbling through trying to be
a lesbian and nearly dying
as a girl
for you to call me “she”

i did not spend $175
on changing my name and gender marker
to reflect who i have always been
*******
for you to call me “she”

i did not make the decision
to have a needle the length
of my pinkie and
roughly the size of a pencil led
stuck in my lower back for
the rest of my life
for you to call me “she”


i did not risk
shortening my life span
to 40 years
instead of the 75 or 80 it should be
because people destroy what
is different
for you to call me “she”

i did not survive through
who i used to be
to become the man i am today
for you to throw this
gender i never asked for
back into my face
no matter how many times
i plead with you to
just give enough of a ****
to get it right

i do not get back up
every time that my gender dysphoria
is made stronger by someone
like you who
so you can look
me in the face
see the tears in my eyes
the tremor in my hands
and still call me “she”

the proverbial blood
that runs through my veins
taking on the colors of a sunset
drips onto your hands
because you can’t see past
the things i can’t control
the things i am able to change

you can’t see the man
that i already am
that i always have been
and you still can’t give me
a good reason as to

why why why
you can look at me
with my visible ****** hair
the button clearly stating
my pronouns as he and him
how i light up when someone
calls me sir or mister
and still stoop so low
as to add fuel to the fire
that is my gender dysphoria
by calling me “she”

(what the **** is your problem?)

i tell you i’ve had a bad day
my depression whacked me
upside the head
and i cried on the bathroom floor

and you share photos
of a quaint forest path
saying that is the real cure for depression
and the pills i take
are a lifelong addiction because
if the pills really did work
then i wouldn’t still be on them
until your fingers ****** bleed

as if my mental illness
is a nasty cold
that requires antibiotics
for about a month
and once i am “better”
i’ll be okay on my own

you treat my pills bottles
like a crutch that makes me weak
like i am a bad person for trying
to live my life worth living
a life which just so happens
to be medicated

and that comes from such
a place of privilege
you and your stupid pictures
of forest paths that have nothing
to do with depression
and anxiety
and screaming hallucinations
that have left me
sobbing on the floor
making myself bleed until
i can tell what’s real again

my mental illness is a chronic thing
even when i am stable
i will never stop being mentally ill
just because i have more good days
than bad doesn’t mean i can cold-turkey
the very things that
keep me functioning
without losing my mind

and when i did try
to go off the meds in high school
you smiled and told me how
brave i was
how strong
how i didn’t need the medication

and days later when i
spent two hours sobbing
until i almost puked
because of the lasagna i had
accidentally burnt to a crisp
you laughed at me
and my tears
and told me to **** it up
to man up
to just be happy

like you telling me to
just be happy
will replace the serotonin my
brain can’t produce enough
of on its own

like you calling me weak
for being on medication
will take away the very real
truth that without
taking those pills every morning
i would have tried to ****
myself again and would
have probably succeeded that time

like you sharing your
pictures of forest paths
and demonstrating your complete
and utter lack of knowledge as to
how medication that isn’t antibiotics works
will suddenly fix
what is broken in my brain

but you take medication
that a doctor prescribes when you
are sick enough for that
to be needed
and nobody calls you weak

and when you break a bone
you get it set in plaster
well i can’t put a cast on
the cracks in my psyche

so i do the next best thing
because if your brain can’t
produce enough serotonin
to keep you wanting to live
all on its own
then store-bought is fine

(and you turning on me
when my mental illness stops
being something i can manage
on my own
says more about you
than it ever will about me)

if i could
i would write myself a father
who was not too tall
just enough so i could fit my
head under his chin

and he would always have
a smile for me
even after a long day at work
and the floor is still wet
from where i mopped

he would hang drawings
and report cards on the fridge
and tell me he was proud of me
even when i hadn’t done anything
that day except remind
myself it’s okay to just breathe

he would be an example
of a father that i could write about
and make it sound realistic
because nothing would
be made up and what
i imagined a father should
be and do

i would write him so
he would want to be my father
and he wouldn’t hate my
mother or me

he would be kind
and never yell at me
or hit or throws things
and he would just be there

this father
i would write him so he
would have found a way to
go to my high school graduation
and tell the people sitting next
to him that i was his son
with a smile on his face

but even as a writer
i’m not that good
of a liar

lonely darkness
strange flower
whisper broken
dreams

heart black as midnight
I fear I am alive
night will fill the forest
so give my death
an echo

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

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