Growing up, you wanted to be a princess. But you wanted to be your own hero. Insisting all you needed was a bit of love
They say, "No, a princess cannot wear a crown and suit"
Handed dolls, cars taken away
They say, "Oh, that's so gay!"
They say, "Hey, ******
They say, "What a ***
They say to grow up. Be a lady. Get some manners; grow a pair
But then you do, and they stare. Bonded with tape; compressed, hidden away from sight
Zachary,
Tucked away in your pocket. Except that pocket is your skin, your bones
They say
If you are one of us, then do this. But you cannot. There is not enough testosterone; not enough muscle
So they laugh. Say you are weak, and a liar
They say
This is a phase. You will regret it. It is simply not possible
Zachary does not exist. He is not real. You are just young
You do not know
You are a female. Despite your protests, they insist anyway
They say, "Have you seen it? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it gay or straight? It's an it. An it. It's a monster."
They say, "I bet I can make you straight" with their glint in their eyes, that have already lowered you, to that of dirt. And then, when you get hurt, it's your fault. For tempting them, for being yourself, not
theirs
They say
You are nothing
They say
You will get hurt. And they are right They do not lie, but they are dishonest
Whispers pass you. Pointing from children, and mothers shielding their eyes
"Don't look at that, it'll make you sick"
Adults of authority, giggling and taunting
Hushing each other, to no avail
Putting you in classes where you don't belong
Making you cry, when they do not listen
The urge to scream, "I am human, too. I deserve comfort"
Anxious to speak up, fear of being dismissed
People misgender you
Call you a girl, if you are a boy
And vise versa
Call you sir or ma'am, when you are neither, or both
You are afraid to speak up. Say, "No, that is not me"
Parents who don't understand. They all begin that way
Not believing, and blaming themselves
Educate them
Zachary is here, standing on his toes
Wishing,
To be seen
To be acknowledged
No longer a scab you feel the urge to pick;
No longer skin you feel the urge to tear
Zachary is here
He has always been here
He is not an it
Dec 3, 2013
Dec 3, 2013 at 8:33 PM UTC
Growing up, you wanted to be a princess. But you wanted to be your own hero. Insisting all you needed was a bit of love
They say, "No, a princess cannot wear a crown and suit"
Handed dolls, cars taken away
They say, "Oh, that's so gay!"
They say, "Hey, ******
They say, "What a ***
They say to grow up. Be a lady. Get some manners; grow a pair
But then you do, and they stare. Bonded with tape; compressed, hidden away from sight
Zachary,
Tucked away in your pocket. Except that pocket is your skin, your bones
They say
If you are one of us, then do this. But you cannot. There is not enough testosterone; not enough muscle
So they laugh. Say you are weak, and a liar
They say
This is a phase. You will regret it. It is simply not possible
Zachary does not exist. He is not real. You are just young
You do not know
You are a female. Despite your protests, they insist anyway
They say, "Have you seen it? Is it a boy or a girl? Is it gay or straight? It's an it. An it. It's a monster."
They say, "I bet I can make you straight" with their glint in their eyes, that have already lowered you, to that of dirt. And then, when you get hurt, it's your fault. For tempting them, for being yourself, not
theirs
They say
You are nothing
They say
You will get hurt. And they are right They do not lie, but they are dishonest
Whispers pass you. Pointing from children, and mothers shielding their eyes
"Don't look at that, it'll make you sick"
Adults of authority, giggling and taunting
Hushing each other, to no avail
Putting you in classes where you don't belong
Making you cry, when they do not listen
The urge to scream, "I am human, too. I deserve comfort"
Anxious to speak up, fear of being dismissed
People misgender you
Call you a girl, if you are a boy
And vise versa
Call you sir or ma'am, when you are neither, or both
You are afraid to speak up. Say, "No, that is not me"
Parents who don't understand. They all begin that way
Not believing, and blaming themselves
Educate them
Zachary is here, standing on his toes
Wishing,
To be seen
To be acknowledged
No longer a scab you feel the urge to pick;
No longer skin you feel the urge to tear
Zachary is here
He has always been here
He is not an it
