There is a Chinese proverb that says
Kissing is like drinking
Salted water
Because that act of drinking
Only increases the thirst
And with your touch
There are oceans in my lungs
There are waves of brine in my throat
Knocking into sodium crystals
That dissolve themselves
Against the roof of my mouth
But the sweetness of your voice
The syrup of your kiss and the sugar
Of your promises
Turn my tongue into
Atlantic City’s taffy
And the rushes of blood through my veins
Crest and break
With white foam
And I’m wary of the silver fins and ivory teeth
That must be gathering at the call of the red in the tide
But still I swim out farther
To take in all that I can
Quaffing rivers
Streams
Rain puddles
And oceans
Until somehow my thirst is quenched
Or until I simply surrender to your arms
Because a parched throat may be maddening
But your embrace calms the waters
That made sailors reach for sirens
And it’s a red sky at night on the ocean
As we lean in for one more kiss

Let’s get something straight
I’m not
Or at least, that’s a situation in question
But that’s not what I’m here for, you see
The acronym LGBT has a terrific little tail that everyone tends to trip over
And the conversations that transpire when I attempt to try the closet door
Leave me frequently swept under the rug
Maybe I’m just a little lost in translation
But they should know that identity is not orientation
And it can be tricky to articulate, so I don’t mind the extra explanation
But I’m telling you there’s a tipping point where you can’t expect me to take it
To tally up the talks I’ve had tearing apart the phrase
“So, genderfluid is like another word for bisexual, then, right?”
Because there’s already this his-and-hers internal tug-of-war
So tying in other types of ignorance just gets tiring at times
And trying again and trying again and again to get the point across
Leads me down a tangled train of thought that runs off the tracks in unclear tangents
Because conversations transition without the intended amendments
Because these transcripts would transcend the usual transfer of data
Into transgressions and obsessions with more than I’m able to
Confirm or confer without temperamental reactions
Feeling entirely translucent overlooking their infractions
Wondering why more words aren’t composed in a way that allows them
To be transposed to neutrality or at least farther from
Specific definitions testing how gendered things can get
Wondering why I don’t make any sense yet
[Breathe]
Let me be perfectly queer
The acronym LGBT has a tetrad attraction detailing at least part of this
Just a trifle of understanding if you’re looking to comprehend it
And if you don’t care to learn then don’t bother to ask
But take some time from your day and I’ll try to make it fast
Go ahead and interrogate, I don’t mind all that much
Whatever trips your trigger, as long as it’s not pointed at us
I can’t speak on behalf of every transgender teen
But if you don’t know a word, I can tell you what I mean
I can text you a trillion terms to absorb
Or trim down the lesson to the basics if you’re bored
But don’t tell me that pronouns are a hassle to learn
When they catch in the throats of those just waiting their turn
To stop hiding their tears and be treated the same
Teaching one person at a time until the world hears their true name
Don’t expect trophies, but I’ll give you my thanks
Don’t tease us about the clothes that make our spines and souls ache
I want to wear this letter T like a cross from my neck
Saying the prefix trans- means across and I like it like that
Traversing the spectrums and binaries all mixed
Transcontinental, transatlantic, transfixed
By the beauty in boys and the glamour in girls
But mostly the neithers and boths in this world
Don’t tell me it’s a transient, temporary tale
Or that I’m totally enamored with getting off the most followed trail
I’m taking back traumas and tense muscles and taunts
Until tentative trespassers give us what we want
A presence, a voice, and all human rights
It shouldn’t be a privilege to feel safe at night
Don’t tiptoe around troubles, just stand with us here
Add a voice until we trumpet our triumphs and cheers
Take my hand, hear my voice
Listen, learn something new
Because LGBT has a cross and
Cross my heart
I’m with you

I am beautiful.
I am gorgeous and flawless in my presence here.
Right now, I've made it to right here.
Every inch of my heartstrings,
Every ounce of my lifeblood
Is meant to be right here, right now
People say Carpe Diem but I don't need to
Seize an entire day,
Just this moment.
This one.
And this one.
And this one right here.
A perfectly polished present from eternity,
Crafted by the hands of God Himself just for me to
Experience and savor and
Breathe in - the scent of life
Smoke and green grass, honey, lilacs,
Homemade lasagna, his cologne, her shampoo.
I've made it to right here, right now
And every word from my lips is an amen to finish off
The prayer of another sunrise, another day
And every heartbeat is a hallelujah to praise another breath,
Another moment in this body
My skin is a tapestry of remembering,
Rose-pink lines bearing witness, well-worn kaleidoscope
Memories of knowing dark nights and grey, lifeless dawns
And the strong, burning scent of *** in my throat
But it's okay now
Because I will protect me
I have dragged myself from the depths
And it was scary.
And it is hard.
And it will be okay.
I am right here, right now
And this is my moment.
My moment to breathe, to feel,
To live.
To let my razors rust and
Know that the pills have forgotten how to poison me
And I will dance like when I was a child,
Before I knew what shame was
And I will laugh like when I was a baby,
Smaller than my mother's hands
And I will love like I have never known the
Sharp, sad pain of depression inside my skull
Because I am beautiful.
I am somebody's favorite voice and I am somebody's
Helping hand and I am somebody's
Shoulder to cry on and I am
Student, teacher, daughter, friend, helper, lover, woman, person,
Human.
And this is the portrait of a young lady
Who is not afraid to love herself with passion
And rebuild her foundation on rock bottom
Because I made it.
Because I am beautiful.
Because this moment is my amen to living.
Because I am right here, right now.
And so are you.

He is a book that was recommended to me just after I passed the shelf on which he was displayed
When I said I hadn’t been reading much lately
Life gave me a chapter full of pictures to begin with
And told me that one page at a time is still progress
In fact, one page at a time is the only way to make progress
He’s a well-read book with new words for every reader
And instead of leaving paper cuts on my hands he leaves ink stains
There are golden letters on his spine that I’ve taken to tracing absentmindedly every time I re-read a phrase
And dog eared pages that I’m not sure I have the authority unfold
He’s captivating
And quickly becoming my favorite story
He is English as a second language and still teaching me more about my tongue than I ever knew
Translating fears into excitement and confusion into intrigue
I didn’t know my skin was cryptic until he decided to decode me
But now I’m fascinated with hunting for the hieroglyphics in his neurons
Listening to tales spun by our own curiosity
Story time trumps bed time whenever possible
And when we decide that language itself is sometimes a ****** up means of communication
We try for morse code heartbeats and braille necklines and bizarre entanglements of hands
And when we decide that sometimes language itself is the best thing in the world
We talk the hours of the clock down to ticking hands and hourglass sand
Or get distracted and I’ll decide that I could travel the world in one night using the roadmaps in his veins
Where I’ll get lost and ask for directions and go through the same streets again anyway
Because I didn’t see everything the first time around and I really enjoy the journey
He is a pronoun that sounds good between my teeth and tastes like learning how to whisper before you learn how to speak
One of those words that I was never sure I was pronouncing right because I learned it by reading alone and deciphering based on context and roots
But he’s also one of those words where once you learn it you start hearing it all the time
And you swear that the whole world acquired this new term with you at once
He is nostalgia in a new experience
Nostalgia-- roots meaning home, or to return home, and a pain or sickness
He’s a homesickness that draws me to him every night
And he is a wanderlust that draws me away from the home I’ve known
Convincing me that comfort zones need exploring the same way tropical zones do
He is an encyclopedia on staying warm in Michigan winters
An atlas from desert countries
And a topographical map that makes me think
I could learn to like geography
Or cartography because he knows that the best way to record new terrain is to explore it first
And I’m content to be a notebook full of scribbles detailing the peaks and valleys and abandoned alleys
And arrhythmic patterns of wind set to traverse through tracheas, reaching lungs only when necessary
He’s the breath I forgot to take when a cliffhanger was resolved
And I don’t always know if I’m a page-turner or just a bookmark within one
But he’s a genre that’s meant to be read under the covers with a booklight until the sun comes up and reminds you that time isn’t as frozen as you hoped it was
And even when I don’t know if we’re on the same page
He tells me that there’s a reason that books have more than one
And I’ve never been good at guessing how stories are going to end
But I'd like to spend some more time reading

Step right up, step right up
Watch your drink
Watch your purse
Watch the eyes of the guys around you
Watch out on behalf of the other girls, you never know what might happen
When you go to college a ******
Life is a ******* circus and
The elephant in the room has always been ***
But they told you that life would be a circus
And that’s where the elephants are meant to be seen, right?
So even though you were prepared to paint your face a sad clown
You put on a leotard and start walking fine lines like a tightrope
Looking for flashy colors on your skin
You wear hickeys and purity rings with the same amount of pride
And you won’t always know why you care so much about either

You’ll learn to be a ringmaster
who can conduct a proper show
But you get used to staying offstage
So the first time he sets off firecrackers behind your eyes and between your hips
Don’t be so scared of the light that you curl up under the circus tent in shame
And shake until sunrise, spitting out the ashes that remain on a briefly lit fuse
Because even though you’ve tasted sparks before
Breathing fire has never been a partner act
But you know that this boy knows how to feed you flames without cooking you inside out
So you attempt to rationalize that perfect double act

And you’ve seen contortionists always return to the shape they were taught
But you’re sure your muscles would stretch enough to change your build
So when the lion tamer brings his head away from a newly domesticated maw
And you start swallowing swords
Your first reaction should not be to gargle alcohol searching for open wounds
And ponder what shade of virginity you’re still allowed to identify with
Take a bow, darling, or at least take a breath
The heat on your tongue is only an afterthought

When he leaves you
shortly afterward
Do not singe your skin in an attempt to burn away his fingerprints
The tears that catch in your throat are as hot as the cinders he put there
And neither one will do away with the other
You just have to let them react and steam until you can breathe again
And breathe until you can feel again
And feel until the cold no longer numbs you and the heat no longer melts your bones
Spitting out the fire means you risk setting everything else ablaze
But swallowing coals until your stomach rejects anything else isn’t the best course of action either
So you hold the match between your teeth and the sparklers in your veins and deny the passage of time
Certain that they will burn out before you have to worry about them again anyway

When you go to college a ******
You’ve been told that fire is cleansing
But chewing on ashes makes you feel *****
And when the heat of passion sets off smoke alarms
It can be hard to remember which drills to follow
So remember this
Don’t catch fire to entertain
If what you really want is to keep warm

I saw a picture on the internet of a sign
That said “Welcome to Amsterdam. When it’s hot, please dress for the body you have,
Not the body you want. Thanks"
In the vicinity was a large woman wearing a pink crop top and leggings and the
Image was captioned
“Look who didn’t follow the rules!”
I assumed this rogue internet commenter assumed that this woman,
This beautiful, curvy, confident woman,
Didn’t want the body she had.
Why is it always assumed that fat people hate their bodies?
I’m fat and this IS the body I want *******!
I love this body!
This body has ******* privilege!
This body has enough melanin to tan easily in summer but not enough
That I’m going to be unjustly persecuted for my skin tone.
This body doesn’t get too cold in the winter.
This body has a home and a family and food to eat!
This body is ABLE to run and jump and walk wherever I want
This body is disease free.
This body can fit into a variety of clothing and look good.
I mean it isn’t perfect -
This body has had an eating disorder.
This body has self harm scars,
This body doesn’t always feel like it’s the right gender
This body has lived through 4 school district changes, a cross country move,
Depression, anxiety, a suicide attempt, high school graduation,
Bullying, finding out that I’m queer, finding out that I’m loved,
My first week of college, 16 days of living on a hiking trail
Thinking I’m ugly and realizing I’m beautiful
But I still want this body!

It’s the only one I have

Leelah, I don’t usually write poems for people I never knew
I don’t usually write poems on the big issues, the things I haven’t studied, and the things I’m new to learning about
I can’t claim to know anything about you
In the seventeen years you were on this Earth, I had never heard your name
And even if I ever met you, there’s a good chance I still wouldn’t know your real name
That I would be introduced to you as Joshua and I wouldn’t have thought twice
Leelah, I haven’t seen much of you and I’ll never get the chance to
To me, you are one selfie in a cream colored dress captioned with a suicide note that I wish no one had ever had to read
The only words of yours I’ll ever know are the last ones you chose to give to the world
And any other information I could find will only tell me where the world stands on the events that lead to your death
I know that your parents bound you too tightly in blue baby blankets that you wanted to bleach white and toss in with the red laundry until it matched the assignment you wish you had from the beginning
I know that isolation and abuse took its toll on your health until your self-prescribed remedies left you standing on Interstate 71 at 2:20 on a Sunday morning
I know that more journalists misgender you than get it right but people are finding the best links they can to tell the world who you are
And they’re sharing your words on all forms of social media
Leelah, you’ve sparked a movement
You said that you wanted your death to mean something, and darling, it has
Progress shouldn’t have to come exclusively from tragedy
But it often does and you deserve to know that your tragedy is leading an advancement
The words that never should have had to have been written in the first place, at least are being read across the world
”The only way I will rest in peace is if one day transgender people aren’t treated the way I was, they’re treated like humans, with valid feelings and human rights”
Leelah, in a google search bar your name is the first result after just three letters
And even when someone types in Joshua Alcorn the whole first page of results is titles that name and gender you properly
Leelah, they’re getting better
They’re finding the breaking points in their ignorance and instead of supergluing the cracks they’re chipping them apart to find the roots of the weakened foundation
Things aren’t what they should be, but skipping stones are becoming stepping stones and hopefully the waters will hold enough of them to support the feet that are trying for the first time to cross over
And hopefully next time there won’t be blood in the water because
Leelah, you deserved so much better than the life you were given
But you’ve given life to new voices and they’re remembering your name and they’re saying
Leelah, we stand by the same things you believed in and now we’re taking your words to the streets
And you are loved and you are missed, but right now it’s important that you are known
And you are known as
Leelah
And you will not be forgotten