‘Are you a boy or a girl?’ They shout down the corridor in a chorus behind me Like the cries of “Good morning, Miss” in assembly The patronising tone in sleep deprived confusion Droning throughout the halls ringing around ‘she’.
Going to lessons is the scariest thing Head down, walking fast hoping they’ll never say anything Hoping no one will question you Glance around and notice you not daring to look up in case you make a wrong move.
You can’t know what it’s like to be in a room all alone, in a house that is not your own; 'Your body is a temple’ they said. But they don’t tell you how to treat it if it’s right in your head but wrong in your skin, and that feeling of being and existing is like dealing with a thousand anxieties suffocating within; Chest too obvious voice too loud and feminine not enough to be ‘gentleman’.
'Why does this bother you?' I hear you enquire, it's because society’s construct of gender is too based on attire, an old fashioned concept- Telling your children that 'blue's for boys' 'pink's for girls'.
'Is it really?' I say. Gender is not just binary it fluxes and changes, just like any scientific theory; Einstein for instance, didn’t come up with special relativity in a night! It took years of work until he was right
Let this apply for gender too: not just black and white it's not as clear cut as that this is black and this is white Evolve the theory from system to spectrum of freedom and pride to reside in one's body happily: Humanity allied.
This is what I dream about, but it is not what I've been living throughout, in our world of shame; where we are reduced to words and themes. Driving my community, those who love and support me, to thoughts of suicide. Being known only when they're reduced to rags and bones, dead bodies hanging from their hashtags thrown in the corner another into the pile of disorder...
But people think it’s okay to come up to you abuse you in the street. Knocked to your knees to cries of 'queer'- you end up living in fear- 'well, what do you expect given who's watching Wall Street?'
Yet I stand here talking to you a queer boy- with all connotations of the word- a queer boy with a voice. Look at me! My chest, My unbroken voice, My broken mind. I am not proud of what I am, what I’ve become and how much it hurts is indescribable to you. I am not what you want me to be. I am a man. Not trans.