It's you. You are the reason that I can no longer sleep at night. You are pain... You are fear... I hate that you are near. I try to forget you. I try and I try and I try, but what good is it trying to ignore my own body? I can not ignore this... This... This emptiness, this longing for acceptance, for change... For something new. I need you. I need you even more than I need myself, so no... I can not forget you. Because my identity is valid, regardless of what they think. Regardless of what anyone thinks. It does in fact matter... I'm not going to pretend that it doesn't. And I'm not going to pretend that you're not here. I know that you are. You've been getting closer and closer and closer, until a few days ago, when you truly arrived. You won't let me feel at home in my own body... I can not touch my body... I can't even look at my body. Why are you doing this to me? And why do I feel the need to tell everyone I encounter that my name may match my face, but it sure as Hell doesn't match my feelings? This is my body... *So go away. You're only ******* me up further... And I know that I could love you if I weren't the one you were chasing, but honestly, I just feel panicked... I feel cornered... I feel *dysphoric. And I'm so ******* frustrated, I mean, why now? Why not then? Why me? Why not him? Or her? But I do not wish this upon them... Yet I never did wish it upon myself. I just want to know... I want to know now... I need to discover the truth... To discover myself. But you won't let me. You are making things far more complicated than they ever needed to be. You are pulling my soul directly out of my skin and leaving my now-useless organs behind... My soul may be with you, but my dead little heart is not. And right now, I wonder if they'll ever agree with this... Hell, I don't even agree with this. Maybe if you had come sooner, if you had been more persistent throughout my childhood, if you had appeared in my doorway before the age of fifteen... I had always dreamt of becoming a boy... Is that not normal? I wanted to kiss pretty girls, wear baggy jeans and have short hair that I could gel and style... I didn't see a disadvantage... I do now. You are the disadvantage... So *******.
A poem from Christmas Eve... Well, Christmas morning. At this point I don't even care who sees it.