----
#1
i remember being a little girl
and holding my friend's hand
who was also a girl
and nobody even gave it a second thought

because the kissing cheeks and
lips but only on a dare
were just us being kids

and even when i wanted
to hold the pretty girl’s hand
who sat next to me on the bus
it wasn’t a big deal
because we were
just friends
just kids

#2
i remember being scared
because i wanted to marry
my girl friends
and live in a big house
with dogs and window seats

but still this wasn’t
a big deal or something to make
a fuss about
because i was still just a kid

nevermind the fact that
i was 12 and then 13
and i had kissed my first girlfriend
in the middle of the street
on a halloween night

and when the lady answered
the door she smiled when she
saw us holding hands
because my costume made
me look like a boy

and the candy sank like a rock
into my guts while my heart
made its home in my mouth
and when my girlfriend asked
me to come and cuddle with her
early that next morning
i rolled over and pretended to still be
sleeping

#3
i remember being a lesbian
meeting my girlfriend
at the mall
and she took my hand immediately
and told me that she wasn’t going
to be scared of doing that in public

and i fell in love with her
the first time i heard her voice
over the phone and through
the grainy webcam on my ****** laptop
and every time her name popped up
on my phone screen
i loved her even more

#4
i remember being a high school freshman
being called a ****
and a *****
and a ******
because of my haircut
and the way that i dressed

and when my bestfriend left
because of the bullying
i felt so alone and afraid

because i was surrounded
by couples that were socially acceptable
since they were a boy and a girl
and i hated their ability
to hold hands and kiss in public without
being bullied
being beaten up
being kicked out by their parents
and being killed

#5
i remember the first crush
i had on a boy as a boy myself
and it was exhilarating and terrifying
because i was social suicide
being queer and transgender

nevermind that i could write poetry
or sew buttons onto pants
or paint
or draw
or cook
or bake
or anything else

because my liking boys
and girls and people who
were both or neither or somewhere in-between
wasn’t cute anymore
since i was grown up

it made me a target
a big red X painted on my back
and to some it made me less than human
because loving who i did
made me a sinner

#6
i remember holding my boyfriend's hand
at school and how ashamed i felt
because of my palms sweating so much
and how afraid i felt

but i also remember how freeing it was
and how i almost cried the first time
he kissed me on the cheek

and i know my girl-self
who was so afraid and angry and sad
would be proud of me
because i hold nothing back now
and i don’t let that fear show
because loving who i love
and holding the hands of boys or girls
or people that don’t conform to either one
does not make me bad

it makes me brave
it makes you brave
it makes us brave

i wonder if building
a house inside of myself
wouldn’t be the worst thing,
the worst choice i’ve ever made

and i chose to love
you on purpose, ya know?
brought fresh pine and soft rugs
to fashion you a table and chairs

but what is an empty table,
if only a centerpiece to display
all the times i dashed my own
heart upon the rocks?

still, i can’t blame the soft
and rain-soaked dirt of your soul
for not being able to nourish
the flowers i so carefully planted

so i will take these wooden planks
and fashion myself a little cottage,
maybe with a wrap-around porch and
window boxes,
and wouldn’t that be nice?

because these hands of mine, lover
they know not the days old
stubble on your cheek, or tucking
bright yellow dandelions and buttercups
behind your ear

but they do know
how to build something from nothing
something from what once was
a ship, a lighthouse, a table

a sturdy front porch
that always has the light on

i split myself open
and it wasn’t poetic
and it wasn’t for you

was it a gurney i spent
two hours laying on
intubated and unconscious?

remember sinking under
feeling naked without
any metal in my face and ears

i put my trust in the
hands of a surgeon
freeing me up with a scalpel

didn’t ask what my ribs
looked like
even though i was curious

could he see my heart?
did he see a body that could be
made into a home again?

the poet that i am
would like to think so
that he pressed a key into my hands

this key carved from flesh
and bone and bruised ribs
finally a welcome kind of pain

this pain of something new
thick scars like a promise
like coming home
after so long

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

the earth warmed up under my feet
steam rising from the ground
swirling upwards in the sun light
like one big exhale
and i noticed that my breath
only came out in a whoosh
no cloud this time
and i wondered briefly if
i hadn’t died
and just forgot about it
but a raindrop fell from a
water-logged plant and landed
on the top of my head
buzzed hair not being much protection
from water of any kind
and i smiled
because i was alive ******
i was alive
and music was playing loud in my ears
i could feel the chill of the wind through my layers
and even though my breath made no cloud
when it left my mouth
i was still breathing
my lungs still expanding
like a flower that had gone too long
without sunlight
and i looked up at the gray sky
the clouds drifting way up above
letting the smells of wet bark dust
and sidewalk and plants and trees
fill my heart and my head with a little
bubble of hope

Soldier
a gruff voice
over and over
right between my ears
duck
swim
crawl
shoot
shoot
louder and louder
my brain shakes
from the weight of
his cruel words

No
I say
in a clear voice that
does not shake or stutter
this surprises me
again I say it
No No No No
I will not do those things
I do not know how to
shoot a gun
probably point it at myself
I am a human
I am not a hammer

Listen
he pleads quieter this time
sit down across from me
let me show you my scars
look how my eyes water
look how my hands shake
I am human too
I do not know how
to be a hammer
I am too gentle
only know how to hurt myself
don’t look at me

Sat
down across from him
I avert my eyes
taking quick furtive glances
now and then
I catalog his messy hair
his cracked and crooked glasses
the bad teeth from refusing
to get braces again and again
the blood crusted around his nostrils
turns my stomach painfully
looking at his scarred arms and blunt fingertips I say
you’re no soldier

A
quiet and broken whimper
escapes him then
surprising us both
on instinct he reaches across
the table for my hand
he smiles weakly when I oblige
and murmurs
no I am a soldier
but not like them
I do not fight for
my country or for theirs
I fight for us for you

Understandably
this takes me by surprise
and when I look at him
more closely I realize he
is not wearing fatigues
we are dressed the same
except his clothes are
more tattered and old
he is me
only more haggard
and there is no familiar outline
of bandages
under his shirt

Smiling
sadly he pulls up his shirt
revealing crescent moon scars
where his ******* should be
the only familiar thing
about his chest and torso
are the ******* and stretch marks
free lightning tattoos
because even losing weight
time and time again
gain and lose
an endless cycle
doesn’t make the past fade

Again
I protest
saying we are not alike
I am not at war
this is all some sick joke
how can we be soldiers
without guns and
tightly laced combat boots
where are my dog tags
and the rapidly beating heart
where is the screaming
where is the war
where is the war

Standing
up he walks around the table
taking my face in his hands
shockingly soft fingers and palms
after all these cruel years
leaning his face closer
the brush of chapped lips
against cold ears
he speaks to my very soul
his words loosen my heart strings
quickens my breathing
he whispers
it’s all in your head

Now
it is my turn to shake
with weak knees
I fall against him
bury my face in his shoulder
breathe in my own musk
we stand silently
******* flush up against flat chest
and then he steps closer
melds with me and we are one
I can feel his heart beat alongside mine
I feel much older
utterly alone

Dear Sarla
people look at me
and all they see is you
I hate that
and it makes me hate myself
you make me want to die
and hell if my pain tolerance
were higher I swear that I
would cut them off myself
because all they see is my
outsides and my double D *******
and even if I carved the word
boy in all caps
into the soft plush of my ******
a little lump that is always too small
to be seen as an ***** *****
they would still only see the
******* shoved away in the back
of my dresser drawer
cuddled up next to my sports bras
that does nothing to hide my *******
and I have been living inside you
for ten long years
my ***** are ready to drop
I even started shaving the little
peach fuzz stache your father shamed
you into bleaching
I let my leg hair grow out
and willed the chest hair to grow
around my navel and then into
the fleshy V
that my hips create
all of my body hair grows freely now
to keep me warm
but mainly to spite you
and ****** what they see
when they look at me
eyes coming up from my crotch
to my chest
is the shadow of a girl
they see a beautiful blossoming
young woman
and yeah okay
I can see that too
you would have been beautiful
but I cut and snuffed out
your life in the middle of the
prime of your youth
I killed you
and have been in the hospital
three times because of this
because of you
and when my first hospital doctor
told me that my coming out was
just a diversion tactic
it felt like the week old cuts
on my wrist
opened up and all of you that
was left inside of me
bled out at his fancy shoed feet
you were pepto-bismol pink
and my empty husk filled up
with the blues of a thousand
unshed tears
I was a raging ocean of boy
my waves crashed onto your body
until you were drowned in it
and then you were gone
but when people look at me
all they see is you
and my blood is blue on the inside
but when they cut me open
they didn’t see the blues
they saw my ******
and my tubes
and the folds of my womanhood
hell yeah though
they still saw my fat
fat thighs
fat stomach
fat arms
fat fat fat
they still see my scars
and my crooked glasses
and my *******
people still ask if I have
a ****
as if my genitals are any of
their ******* business
and probably if I did
get surgery
my cosmetic scars would still
label me as a freak
I still wouldn’t be enough of a
man for them
my ***** would never be big enough
no man or woman would ever be
able to love me with the lights on
because hell
I’m still not able to pleasure myself
your body is a landscape
albeit a barren one
filled with mines
and I am too clumsy to
traverse it
your ******* only become ***** from
the cold and the only wetness in
your boxers is blood
and I am afraid to look at you
in the mirror
because even I can’t will something
to grow that wasn’t programmed
from the start
and even the friends that never
even knew you
they hold you over me
I’m not a boy because I haven’t
had The Surgery yet
what bathroom do I use
I don’t count as a boy because
of my huge ****
I can’t be a boy because
I like pink shorts
and the only things that have
change are my name
and my hair
I am a *****
a girly boy
but ****
I’m enough of a man for myself
I will never be a mother
and I will only let them ****
me like a man
the swaying of my *******
as I bend over a constant
reminder that I am wrong
but the only boyfriend
I’ve had since sixth grade
only asked me out because
he had a crush on you
I have to tell people that I am
a boy and remind them of the pronouns
that I use
over and over again
but technically I’m still a girl
well technically *******
honestly though Sarla
I wish people would be able to
see through to me
because when my light does
distinguish I don’t want to
be buried in a dress
don’t want my mother to cry
over her little girl
I think my sister would cry
for me though
she calls me her older brother
and once called my ****** a peen
she has come around
with flying colors
and she really gets it
I know that when it seems
like the world is against me
I will always have her
she sees through you
to me Priestly underneath
and Sarla
as long as I have her
I know I’ll be okay
it makes the wait for people
to come around a lot easier
I love my sister so
and someday you really will be gone
***** and period and all
I’m going to have a proper burial
for you when I get home
but until then
I’ll take good care of your body
and I know you’ll be watching over us
Love Priestly

step one:
don’t come out
in any way
keep your mouth shut
about your sexuality and your gender
because really
as you will come to notice
the cuts and scars on your wrists
and the suicide attempts under your belt
will be way more bearable than the disgust
that your mother holds in her eyes
in the downwards tilt of her mouth
when she looks at you

step two:
keep your mouth shut
about everything
even if your mother sees what
you are doing to yourself
how you are slowly whittling yourself
down to the very core of your being
deny the empty pill bottles
and the blood in the sink
a red red ring around the shower drain

step three:
deny everything
the bloodstains on your long sleeves
the sweatshirts and layers upon layers
worn on hundred degree days
all of the empty pills bottles
the alcohol and cigarettes on your breath
the bags under your eyes
hospital bracelets taped into old notebooks
suicide notes hidden inside every word
and every thought and every breath
the urge and the need and the want and the
promise of a sweet darkness
you hunger for it
it courses through your veins

step four:
remember that it is all your fault
it is your fault for being born
for being abused
for more than half of your life
the depression
the anxiety
the insomnia
the self-harm
your mother’s alcoholism
the smell of **** on your clothes
the coffee stains on her teeth
because she needs some kind of drink
just to look at you anymore
it is your fault for wanting to die
it is your fault for being this way
everything is your fault
you are to blame for all the
wrongs that are plaguing this world
and you will spend so many years
and countless sleepless nights
so many hospital visits
and therapists
and pill after pill after pill
trying to fix a body and a mind and a heart
that your mother destroyed

step five:
learn to love yourself
find friends and make them your new family
learn to accept yourself
be proud of your scars
and the bags under your eyes
the ground-down teeth
the shaky hands
because even messy teeth can smile beautifully
and even shaky hands can hold someone tightly
or yourself
don’t be afraid to hold yourself
because sometimes you are all that you have
revel in the feeling of being alone
but rejoice about being with friends
let yourself heal

step six:
remember that you are not a monster
you are a human being
and you do not have to be
your mother’s little boy or little girl
if you don’t want to be
you are not other’s failings
or what has been done to you
these have shaped and molded you
into who you are today
they taught you how to survive
in a cruel cruel world
let your wings grow
so big that they cover you and everyone
and everything that you love and hold dear
hold your own hand
wipe your own tears
but also don’t be afraid to let other people
do those things for you
and most importantly
don’t forget to let yourself live again

be aware of me
be afraid of me
be terrified ******
look at me
from a safe distance
i am the open wound of child abuse
though i am no longer a child
it has not yet stopped
i was left alone
and now i am not only an open wound
but a rotting and festering wound

look at me
but do not make a sound
do not breathe
do not even say a word
i do not want your apologies
or your ******* excuses
because i know that you saw the
cuts and the blood
the bags under my eyes
and eventually the jutting bones of my hips
my ribs
like cage bars
struggling to rip through stretched taut skin
the bumps of my spine
and you did not hug me anymore
perhaps you were afraid of hurting yourself
on my sharp edges

and i got so cold
all skin and bones
mostly bones at that point
even a hand to the hot burner
did nothing to stem the chill
and my stick thin arms
elbows like bowling *****
could not wrap around myself
hard enough and close enough
to chase away the icy winds
i shivered for so long
but you took no heed

i am still shivering
but now i have become accustomed
to it
it is all i know
so now
i do nothing to stop the chill

i yearn to make a house
inside of you
using stark-white ribs
for an a-frame

your lovely blood
waters the dandelions
and clovers nestled in
wooden window-boxes

i would like to
nestle myself inside
of your chest cavity, lover

pluck your heartstrings
like they were a harp
and i were something more
than a lovesick bard

loving a man
a wild thing in the shape
of a sea captain that
doesn’t know how to be
loved in that way

and i’ll watch your mouth
chapped lips pulled into
a grin, notice my blood
on your teeth

because, captain of mine
as much as i have been
fed on your affection and the promise
of an always returning
you have been fed on me, too

after all, the lone table
on this ship tossed about
by the mighty ocean waves
has always been set
for two

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 am

the breakfast I didn’t eat

day old scars littering my arms

the burning peroxide running down the drain

water not yet tinged pink by blood

I am

the chips eaten at 2 AM

pills swallowed dry

scraping their way down my throat

contemplating a silent suicide

I am

the hand tremors

so bad I can hardly write

unfortunate side affect of the meds

keeping the demons at bay

I am

the last fare well

apologizing until my throat bleeds

for the slip ups and people I failed

scattered over my skin over and over again

I

am

human

but

I

don’t

really

want

to

live

I've got some of these, too!

Here are my two favorites: It's okay if you change your mind.
It's okay if SHE wants to come back.

I am going to take this opportunity to introduce myself to you guys again. Hi. My name is Boaz Priestly Stout. But I mainly go by Priestly. I am a transgender male. My pronouns are he/him. And, I have felt this way since I was 7, so I can assure you I will not "change my mind."

Because, even saying that implies that being transgender is a choice. Well, news flash: IT'S NOT! I mean, do any of you honestly believe that I would choose this for myself? The constant dysphoria, not being able to pass as male, the misgendering and dead-naming, and general transphobia are hell. I would not wish this on my worst enemy. This is not a choice. It is who I am. And, I have fully embraced it, because, it is better than the alternative of living life with this big secret that eventually destroys me. I am not going to be a statistic. I will not be one. I will not.

I am a boy. My name is Priestly. I am a boy. I AM.

munching on blueberry poptarts
watching buzzfeed videos
putting off writing
about you and
your book
which
i made it through ten pages
before i started to cry
and i felt your pain
all around me
like a suffocating blanket
and i felt like i did when
i overdosed
last year
well
kind of like that
my teeth were chattering
they still are
my heart was beating
really **** fast
and i was sweating and shaking
the birds under my skin were trying to
fly south
for warmer climates
i cried for you
for debra
for rayni
for all the people that are gone
way too soon
without a goodbye
and the footprints that your family
have left on my heart
are a mile deep in
every direction
i have cracks pointing in all the
cardinal directions
but none of them can find her
and bring her home
and i am truly sorry
and yes i know that you should never
start a sentence with and
but that is the word that my brain
my addled mind
so often gets stuck on
and and and
i am sorry
ty my aunt’s doggy
he came and kept me company
swinging back and forth
out in the hammock
cursing the bright morning
sun that assaulted me eyes
drying my tears on my cheeks
like little salty crystals
ty would come over every few minutes
in the hour or so that it took me to
finish your book
and he would nudge up against me for pets
i got dirt from his coat on some of the pages
now there are parts of both of us
intermingled with your intense pain
reading your book made me want to
put on pants
and get my life in order
but the hammock and the breeze
so cool and cold after so many days of heat
kept me rooted
lounging
smothered in a pain that is not my own
your book made me want to pray
go the whole nine yards and get down
on my knees
but all i do
when i pray
is yell at the sky
and swear loudly for all the injustices
in this ****** world
there are bruises and scratches
self inflicted in my sleep
littered about my arms
but i don’t count this as self harm
because there was no cruel intent
behind it
and after reading your book
i know that you know what it feels like
to take it out on yourself
and that scares me
because i’ve always thought of you
as a pillar of strength
but i guess that growing up
is watching your heroes turn human
but i know what it feels like
to take out the pain and hurt and blame
on your self
it’s what i did for four **** years
but it is not your fault
it is not your fault
and i know that i’m just a dumb kid
but i know
in my heart of hearts
that it is not your fault
it is not your fault

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

****** 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

pirate with a fear of drowning,
bard with a fear of loving,
but i lashed myself to the mast anyway,
and sang until my voice gave out

and that’s the same kind of
fear, in a way,
so close to giving in to the sweet
call of the unknown,
wondering if the loose threads in the
well-worn sleeves of your sweater will
finally unravel if i stray too far
from where i’ve been holding on

i won’t dash my ship upon the
rocks this time, will stay out
past the breakers and squint up at
where i imagine you to be when the
bright yellow from that lonely lighthouse
bathes my sins in gold

maybe i’ll even walk away
just about unscathed, too,
promises that still echo across the
empty stage of my heart,
eagerly awaiting when you’ll be able
to, willing to, understand this tongue

and there’s fear in that, too
under all that love, it’s just fear,
and this shouldn’t come as a surprise

and maybe this one isn’t for you,
but it’s certainly about you,
just the same

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

two beers and three tacos in,
the clover pendant falls
out of my necklace

while you superglue
it back in place, you look
over at me and ask,
“you’ve still got this?”

i have the first one
you gave me, too, that
i wore until it oxidized

because the materials
that you work with now
weren’t as nice then, but
i didn’t feel like myself
without that cord around
my neck

and since i am a bard,
a poet, a lover, and a hopeful,
hopeless, lovesick fool,
i want to say something back
about true north and true love

i’ve charted the stars in the sky,
and the wind in your sails,
and how the sunrise looks
when i’m making us breakfast
in the morning

it’s that soft glow,
the way you look at me,
that sets my heart ablaze

but that’s not what you
want to hear, is it, my love?

so i’ll flash you a quick grin,
toss back the rest of my
cheap beer, shrug, and say
cheerfully, “of course i do”

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

you say fifty people
I SAY FIFTY GAY PEOPLE
you say nightclub
I SAY GAY NIGHTCLUB
you say the shooter was mentally ill
I SAY HOW DARE YOU PERPETUATE THE STIGMA
THAT MENTALLY ILL PEOPLE ARE SOMEHOW DANGEROUS
WHEN THERE HAVE BEEN COUNTLESS NEUROTYPICALS
THAT HAVE DONE HORRIBLE THINGS OF THEIR OWN VOLITION
you say this was isis
I SAY HOW DARE YOU CONTINUE TO SUPPORT THIS ISLAMOPHOBIA
THIS WAS THE WORK OF ONE MAN
ONE MAN WITH A GUN
AND NOW FIFTY OF MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEAD  
SO I SAY HOW DARE YOU
TRY TO MAKE THIS ANYTHING ELSE THAN WHAT IS OBVIOUSLY IS
THIS WAS A HATE CRIME
AND THE WORST SLAUGHTER
-BECAUSE THAT IS WHAT IT WAS-
IN HUNDREDS OF YEARS
AND IT WAS A HATE CRIME AGAINST THE LGBTQ+ COMMUNITY
SO HOW DARE YOU TRY TO DOWNPLAY THIS
TO A MENTAL ILLNESS AND AN AFFILIATION WITH ISIS
BECAUSE MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS ARE DEAD
AND YOU SAYING well this happens to other people all the time
ERASES THE FACT THAT YES I KNOW THIS HAPPENS TO OTHER PEOPLE
BUT THIS HAPPENED TO GAY PEOPLE
AT A GAY NIGHTCLUB
AND NOW A PLACE THAT SHOULD BE SAFE
FOR MY BROTHERS AND SISTERS
AND FOR ME
IS NO LONGER SAFE
BECAUSE A MAN WITH A GUN DECIDED THAT
SINCE WE ARE DIFFERENT THAN HE IS
WE SHOULD NOT BE ALLOWED TO LIVE

kneeling in order to rest
my cheek on the windowsill
and gaze up at the moon through
the full and green tree branches,
i briefly allow myself to indulge in
that hopeful romanticism that we’re
both looking at the same celestial body

and i know you’d laugh if i
put it the way,
tell me i’m guilty of cliches,
and something about all
those ****** bards

but i can live with that,
because i know that when i
leave after breakfast, you’ll
wave back and watch as i go

i’ll even have the courtesy to wait
until i’m standing on loose gravel,
waiting for the first bus,
to press the sleeve of my jacket to my
nose and breathe that last little
bit of you in

and i thought of you, after that
first time i had kissed another man,
walking back home in the dark and
worrying the clover pendant you’d
given me between shaking fingers

and i’m still chasing that high of
when you swept me off my feet,
suspended briefly in that in between time
of too late and too early at night,
not having been held like that since
i was a boy

and is it any surprise that i’m
still sweet on you,
after all these years?

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

heartbreak is one hell
of a muse
and the bard wonders
if the captain
if his captain
is aware of this

that the bard could have
a muse before the captain
is nothing to scoff at

because, really, what kind
of poet would he be
if heartbreak weren’t his
first love?

and there really is a certain
poetry in taking the thing that
plagues you into shaking hands
and forcing it into a shape
that suits you better

maybe the shape of that
heartbreak is you, captain

maybe the shape of that
heartbreak
is you

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

i will sing of many things
as any good bard must do
bringing so much to life
with only the sound
of my voice

i could sing for you, too
softly, of a man with
daisies braided into
long hair and tucked behind ears

would you take these flowers
that i have picked
even if my hands shake
and their true meaning escapes me?

poor little bard,
i say to myself,
scrubbing tear tracks from pale cheeks
always singing of love
until his voice cracks and breaks
but never truly experiencing it

of course, there’s a certain
poetry in the persistence
of a wound such as this

though, metaphor be ******
it ******* hurts
but there’s no blood to sop up
nothing to bandage or splint

and at the end of the night
i am still left alone
something that feels like
your name on my tongue

and i want to tell you
so many things
like how beautiful you are
like how i’m sorry i let
this infatuation get so far
and grow so large

and i want you to know
that a bard with a broken heart
will yield no coin
but i’ll keep singing for you
anyway

because, my love
the least i can do
is immortalize you

if not in my arms
then through words that will
survive long after i have
returned to the ground
and isn’t that worth something?

and what if you
didn’t **** her,
but i did?

what if i slithered
up from the cracked
and barren ground and
made myself at home
behind the cage
of her ribs?

how did you feel
when i cut her hair
for that very first time,
and dyed it once,
and then again?

do you feel like
i am wearing the skin
of your girl?

do you keep yourself
up at night, asking
why your baby girl
grew into a ****,
and then into a man?

you didn’t share in that
same relief, a homecoming
after far too long away,
that i felt looking down
at a chest that was bandaged,
sure, but was finally flat,
did you?

how did you feel
when another man,
that was never going to be you,
taught me how to shave?

what did you feel,
when the longer i was
on testosterone, the
more i looked like you?

never was made to
be a daddy’s girl,
was i now?

but i wasn’t made
to be your boy, either

the image i have
taken great care to sculpt
myself in has never
once been yours

i was a ******
12 or 13 year old lesbian
coming out to my friends at lunch
almost choking on my juice
when they said that they already knew
and their immediate acceptance made
me so relieved that i forgot
to chastise them for not
having told me sooner

and i loved my
first girlfriend
like how just seeing her would
let loose a stream of butterflies
into my stomach and i adored every
single one of them

and i loved my
girlfriend even when our
first kiss made the inside of
my bottom lip bleed
but she held my hand
and that made everything alright

but i was a
****** teenage lesbian
because i still felt things
for boys

boys taller than me
and the same height
with their blue
and brown and green eyes
and short hair that i wanted
both on my head
and on my face

and and and i
didn’t know if i wanted
to be with the boys
or be the boys

but my girlfriend with
her soft hands and softer lips
imploring me to crawl into
bed with her on those
early mornings when we
were both a little less than half awake
even she couldn’t make that ache
of wrongness go away

and i was a
****** and angry and
even more confused than before
teenage lesbian girl
but i was just so bad at it
because the part of me
that rationalized i must have been
a queer woman
got so much smaller
that i felt like an imposter
in my own ****** identity

and and and i
longed to be a boy
with a strong jawline
and hair on my face
and a flat chest
and and and i
just didn’t want to be me anymore
because the real me
he wasn’t a girl

and and and the
real me that he
inside of me
for so many years
is able to love boys and girls
and not feel guilty for it
because love is love is love
and i am still alive
to enjoy it

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

i say to god that he
is just another absent father
and he tells me to
eat my vegetables

i want to ask where he was,
my father?
a god that i
still don’t know if i fully
believe in?

but because i am
a good son,
i will set the table,
carefully lay out the silverware

ladle hot soup into clean
bowls and bite the inside
of my cheek until it bleeds
when my father says that
i purposely gave him less meat

and i want to ask him,
is this all i am to you?
another mouth to feed,
somebody to blame for your
mistakes and the alcohol on your
breath as you scream at me?

where have you gone,
father of mine,
this mythical man that
walks among the clouds,
and what should i pray for?

a father that loves me,
that wants to parent me,
when does this begging to be
seen as his son,
as anything,
taper off into anger?

because i am down on
my knees here,
but still there is no answer,
and i don’t expect there to be

i once again find myself
to be lovelorn
lovesick,
and foolishly so,
when it comes to you

with a heart too prone
to pining for its own good,
i dream of donning a silk gown
and sharing a dance with you

let me long,
and ache,
and wish,
just a little longer

maybe you could have
loved me once,
in the way that i desired,
but that’s not in the cards
i find myself holding this time

and there’s no tricks
up my sleeve, no clever
metaphors like crashing my
ship upon the rocks of this
longing again and again

just watching the dappled
light from rising sun casting
its warming rays across the back
of a chair with two hats resting
on either side

and maybe that’s enough,
maybe it has to be

in the car
sat next to my mother
sweating along to the country songs on the radio
my toenails scrape against the bottoms of my shoes
as i scuff the them against the worn carpeting
the car smells like very berry hibiscus
and black coffee that reminds me
of a place before they were gone

at the cemetery
it feels wrong to be alive
and i make sure not to step
directly onto the headstones
because the horror movies always warn
me of hands coming up through the dirt

but i can’t
help but to think of how nice
it would be to be held by my great grama
one last time
even if i got dirt in my eyes
it would be nice to see her again

i’m sorry that
i didn’t go near her coffin
i remember his funeral too
though i don’t know how many years ago
it happened to be
i cried the hardest
and i remember at her funeral
how my mom and sister were talking about how
proud they were that neither of them cried
like i did
and i felt small and weak and childish
but also
painfully human

i find that
it is easier to think of the cemetery
as more of a library for the dead
because most of them are as old
as the dewey decimal system
and i’m just pawing through the card catalogs
looking for a hand to hold

your parents are
under the c category
c for classen
c for caring
c for compassion
c for clarity
c for cherished memories
c for come back

I first knew I was transgender when I

was 12 and I looked down at my chest one day

and saw something other than a flat expanse

of skin staring back at me

and I wondered why

since I still really didn’t understand the difference

between boy and girl

why my ***** hadn’t come in yet



But that’s a lie

it wasn’t that sudden or dramatic

it happened earlier than that

but back then I didn’t even know

what transgender meant

all I knew that

when my friend and I were in the bath

and he pointed at his ***** and then asked

to see mine

I didn’t have anything to show

and I ran out of the bathroom

crying hot tears of jealousy



I didn’t know what transgender meant

until last year

and I was so happy because I had found a word

that described the tomboy haircut and the

scabby knees and the ripped jeans and the

worn out Chuck Taylor’s

besides it’s just a phase

you stupid silly girl



When I look down at my body

never naked

always fully clothed

because I look better in layers

and see the soft flesh sitting on my chest

the useless lumps that will never nourish a child

because I’m too afraid to bring a defenseless child into

this ****** up world

all I feel is hatred

and sadness

and a deep sense of longing to have nothing

but a flat chest

flatter than a binder can give me



Now I embrace this word

label myself because I have to

speak out and loudly correct people when they

use the wrong name and say she instead of he

because I am not a girl

I never have been

I was just born without the right genitalia

and I know that somebody would be able to

find my woman’s body beautiful

with the stretch marks

the scars

the fat and cellulite

but I do not find this cage beautiful

and all I want to do is break free

and maybe drink a fifth of *****



I do not look like a boy

but that is who I am inside

and one day I will pass as a boy

scarred cosmetic instead of statistic

a smile instead of a handful of pills

shirtless instead of new scars

flat chested without a binder

and maybe double digits



I will stand up straighter

no longer hunched over from the weight

of my shortcomings and insecurities

I will smile

and not just because I’m imagining my funeral

but not because I will be dead

but when the time comes

and I am laid to rest

two feet wide and six feet deep

I will not be misgendered

the wrong name will not be placed on my tombstone



And I still have bad days

when I want to relapse

and go back to the pills

but I just remind myself that I will

pass one day and I will no longer have

to tell my teachers

friends

counselors

therapists

strangers

my name and pronouns

they will look at me and assume boy

because I will be what my insides say

my light will finally shine through

and I am going to be around to see this

ugly butterfly break out of his cocoon

and greet the world with a smile

that will not be forced

parents tell many lies to their children
for example:
there is no monster under your bed
there are no monsters in your closet
jaws can’t get to you through the shower drain
i’ll love you no matter what

cynical huh?
yeah yeah i know
i gotta work on that
but then my writing would be so boring

so those other lies
they don’t really mean much
in the grand scheme of things
and there other ones for sure
like heaven and hell being real
and you go to hell for being other
and not for the things that you do
to yourself and others

but that last one
is what really messes kids up
and young adults
and suddenly you’re twenty five and
flinching at the parent’s voice
raised at their child to almost
a yell and it is carrying
from five grocery aisles over
and asking yourself just what the hell happened
to get you where you are today

my mom told me that last lie
and i believed her
but not enough to tell her that i
was a lesbian until i had told
what few friends i had at school
and even our dog

and i didn’t tell her at home either
because i wasn’t an idiot
and could smell the alcohol on her breath
when she picked me up from school

so i told her over appetizers
and then maybe a burger at
a restaurant that charged maybe
fifteen bucks for a slice of cake
and she told me back that she
would love and accept me no matter what

and that night
i almost told her that i had felt different
like a freak
like a monster
like i was broken
like a boy
since i was seven years old

but looking back now
from a different gender and sexuality
with scars to prove that where i came from
no child should have to go through that
i am so glad that i didn’t tell her
anything more than that i was a lesbian

because that next morning
she broke the promise that she
had been making since i was
a baby and then a child
that she would love me
that she would accept me
no matter what

and there was fresh alcohol
on her breath and ****
stink sewed into the fabric
of her clothes as she yelled
at me that i wasn’t being authentic
to myself and that i wasn’t being
my real self and that
i just hadn’t met the right boy yet

i stopped telling my mother things
like how i felt wrong in my sexuality
like how i wanted to die
when i started to bleed each month
like how i went to bed with blood
stained onto my wrists
like how i starved myself down
so she would maybe love me again

maybe that’s why
when i finally found the word
for what i was at sixteen years old
i told my blog
and the friend’s family i wished was mine
and the dog again
before i told my mother
that i wasn’t really a girl

and only then did she accept that
i had been a lesbian for the past
three years as a way to throw that
back in my face
because i couldn’t be a boy
if i was a gay woman
and i couldn’t be a boy
if i had no bottom dysphoria
and i showed no signs of it
as a child
but she was just too drunk
and ****** and absent to notice

and she tried to tell me that lie again
how she would love me
how she would accept me
no matter what
but that was followed by how she
still saw me as her daughter
and that was the first time
surprisingly enough
that i thought about slitting my throat

so parents lie to you
they lie about a lot of things
like how they will never die
the things you see aren’t real
the voices you hear aren’t real
you aren’t a monster for being you

so parents lie to you
they lie about a lot of things
like how they say:
i’ll love you no matter what
i’ll love you no matter what
i’ll love you no matter what

i’ll love you no matter what

Your boots are by the door,
my love. In hopes you will pick them up again.

I think of your feet, so small.
Toes curled up against holey socks, so cold.

We could have been a city of two, my love.
But you lost your passport somewhere along the way.

Sometimes it feels like your boots are
all I have left of you. Worn leather, whispered promises.

You said we would be forever, in the way
that kids believe that so wholly. But forever is a long time, my love.

And I put my boots next to yours, my love.
Tie the laces together like hands holding tight.

I brush the cobwebs off your boots, my love.
Head over heels for ten years, hasn’t quit yet.

Phone buzzes then, your name on the screen.
The text says you’re back, my heart says you’re coming home.

we know
how you sleep
curved spine and
empty arms

your feet and legs
so cold with nobody
there to rub them
up against

you sleep like a person
that has been very lonely
for a very long time

watching you brings tears
to the eyes
for you are not a person
that is used to
nor that likes
to sleep alone

but there are miles between
both of your beds that
neither of you are quite sure
how to fill

because phone calls and texts
do not fill the empty nights

they do not block out
the chill of sleeping alone
when the one that you so
desperately want to curl
your hollow bones

that cracked and twisted skeleton
of yours around
is as lonely and cold
as you are

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

mouthful of cheap beer
gets caught on the
sudden lump in my throat,
bubbles burning all the way
up to my nose

i want to cry,
hot tears burning the backs
of my eyes

maybe throw my head back
and howl mournfully at that
big old moon, always so far away

and i’ve never been much
of a praying man,
but i’d still press my aching knees
into the soft dirt right outside that
lonely little cemetery chapel

and i won’t ask for succor,
have no plans to confess my sins,
just want to pretend for a spell
that i can find comfort in
something greater than myself

and maybe the cold metal
of the handle, that lovely wood grain,
will burn its way into the skin of
my palms when i try to step inside

and maybe i’ll let it,
just this one time

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?

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

“to love another
you must first love yourself
fore if you do not love yourself
you can not truly love
anyone else”
what a bunch of crap

the list of things
that i hate about myself
it is far bigger than the things
that i like about myself

i hate my hands
with the chewed-down fingernails
and the chronic tremors from anxiety
and so many different cocktails of medication
that has grown too big to
swallow dry anymore

i hate my mental illness
the auditory and visual hallucinations
that used to plague me constantly
and the depression
the anxiety
the insomnia
the ****** PTSD

i hate that i cut myself
for six years
and the urges still overwhelm
me more than is probably healthy

sometimes i hate that i failed
when trying to **** myself
four years ago

i am a freak in every
sense of the word
but that doesn’t bother me as much
as it used to
because all of my heroes are freaks too
and i still have so much love to give

because i grew up hating myself
raised between two abusive households
where it was made obvious that i
was not wanted by either parent
so i took that love that i was unable
to feel for myself and threw
it out into the world
for those that needed it more than me

i have so much love to give
because that is a terrible thing
to let go to waste
and i have more than enough
to go around

and i hate myself more days
than i love myself
but by giving that gift to others
before myself i think
and i know
that i am slowly learning how to
love myself again
and forgetting what it has felt like
to hate myself since i was
seven years old

so don’t you dare tell me
that i can’t love others until
i love myself
because that isn’t enough of
a reason to keep moving forward
and loving others first is how i
pick up the jagged edges
and smooth them down into something
that is soft once again

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

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

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

lonely darkness
strange flower
whisper broken
dreams

i wonder if this is
what love feels like
your hand ****** in the collar
of my shirt

our faces so close
i could lean forward
and kiss you gently

or bite your lip
make you bleed
like i have bled

instead, i bite my tongue
tasting copper
but nothing i will regret
having said

like all these apologies
stagnating in my throat
maybe a broken plea
but i don’t know what for

i’d ask you
if i could find my voice
putting the pressure on you
to fix this

and that’s selfish, isn’t it?
wanting you to hold me
like one would a lover
without the other iterations
of that silly little word

but that’s all i have
ran out of ways to make my sorrow
sound poetic and palatable
long before this infatuation
blind-sided me so cruelly

and maybe right now
this is okay
your hands rough on my skin
but your voice so soft
when you look at me

you were a shooting star
that always passed me by
and i wished on you
everytime

maybe you’d let me
hold your hand,
lay my head on your shoulder,
stay one more night

yelling my wishes
as a cloudless sky
watches me, reaching for
the man in the moon with
my booted feet firmly planted
on the hard ground

and maybe if i could
find enough wooden boards
and rope, i could build a
ladder that would reach you

but is that something
that you would even want,
my love?

that’s not really something
that i can ask,
would ruin the magic of this
hopeful romantic,
falling in love again and again

so i’ll settle for a star,
hold it close in my steady hands,
and think of you as i fall
back to earth

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

Bottom line, depression is a cruel mistress. I know this for a fact. In the worst part of my depression, I didn’t just suffer internally, but externally, too. As in, my personal hygiene went downhill. I hid certain parts of it pretty well. Greasy hair can be hidden with a hat, unbrushed teeth with minty gum, three days of the same Tee shirt with a sweatshirt. What couldn’t be hidden, though, was the state of my room. I could have easily cleaned up the various messes. But, I didn’t. Probably in a wain attempt to get my mother to realize that I wasn’t okay. She didn’t, though, and I was just left with the mess.

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