one day i was talking to my little sister.
she asks me if i was ever depressed.
i tell her yes.
her eyes widen and her lips are mouthing 'why?'
'babe, i'm transgender.'
'is that it?'
so i begin to explain to her the things i feel.
i tell her how everyday i can't wait to get home
and slice open this body i don't know
with a razor from a convenience store.
i tell her i don't know how to act like
a girl for mom and dad, but apparently
i do a **** good job because they
don't notice i'm not.
i tell her that for fourteen years
i've wanted to cut my hair short
and never have to wear a skirt to church again.
i tell her about the pain and fear of
going into a public bathroom.
i tell her about the looks the kids at school give me
and the shoves from behind
about the **** binders and
the locker rooms.
i tell her that i don't know what they
want me to be, and if i can be it.
i tell her all i want is to be called 'he'
and feel like they mean it.

she pauses and gives me a look that says
even though she's too young to understand,
she does.
'i've always wanted a brother.'

I'm a freak.
I don't fit in.
I don't have friends.
I have nightmares.
I write bad poetry that
no one reads.
The scars on my legs spell
"I'm still here."
I don't know who the scars
are talking about.
I get beat up
at school
at home.
I get bad grades because
I don't care.
I can't use public bathrooms
because people can't tell
if I'm a boy
or a girl.
Same with lockerrooms.
I don't talk to people.
I read to escape.
You can find me behind
the stairs at school.
The teachers don't see me.
Niether do my parents.
I wish the kids didn't see me.
I forgot how to be happy.
I'm trying.
Nice to meet you,
I'm Max.

I gave my identity to a man
who stabbed me with it.
I gave my identity to my friends
who tore it up into little pieces
to show everyone.
I gave my identity to my mother
who would not touch it.
Every time I would give it away
I would find it crushed
and beaten.
So now I never give it away.
I stay invisible, that's my goal,
and I'm pretty **** good at it.

we are monster in these indigo beginnings
this space and time you forget by dawn
brilliant cracked universes show in your eyes
stop
scream out thy wild dreams
inside blue stars death stands by
look for consequences burned sweet, because
lovely explosions ain't free
difference threatens with pathetic marches
breath yellow dust
ghosts of fantastic commentary
playing in your head
music never gave such blithe
fire crackles, up up it goes
naked hunger ends your soul
but people will hold you intact

I'm lost.
I tell you but you just say to
stop thinking so hard
but that's impossible.
Quick change the subject before
I can tell you that my anxiety
is so bad that it's causing me
physical pain,
that I hold back tears at school
and people keep asking if I'm okay
because I was never really good
at hiding my face.
I feel like music can't hear me,
like I lost the translation so
people can't understand me.
I feel like my poems are razors I'm testing
how deep I can get get into my skin,
like no one's left to sing my name and
my vocal chords were ripped out
a long time ago.
I feel like
I don't understand me anymore.

The screaming continues, the yelling goes on.
Strained voices from creating so much
NOISE
I wonder if there was a time that we could
talk softly to each other, lovingly. I wonder
if 'before' we knew of other things
besides our own screaming. Our anger.

The sunrise this morning
was like a huge
magnificent fire
devouring the sky. So
great was the fire that
everything it shone it's
light upon burned up
and became ash.
*Including me
including you.