We are trapped in closets that are more like coffins
Every breath a game of Russian roulette, wondering which will be our last.
Each step outside a bullet in the chamber,
Every person another pull of the trigger,
And one day they will line up,
For one, final, shot.
By the time they turn 20, 1 in 3 Trans people will have attempted suicide,
And those are only the ones who make it that far.
Out of 41% who try, 10% will succeed.
We want to go home but we don't have them anymore and maybe we never did.
More trans youths are accepted by oncoming traffic than by their parents,
The only hugs those from the rope around our necks.
Replacing love with pills and pain.
"If you want to kill yourself that bad, then just do it."
The average life span in America is 78.8 years young.
The average life span when you're trans is around 20 to 32,
Which means that I have lived more of my life than I have left,
And my friends are only just starting to live theirs.
Birthdays are just a count down to when the last blow will be struck.
1 in 12 of us will be murdered.
We are not safe
Bathrooms are bloody battlefields,
Not man enough, not woman enough,
Not enough.
Who can decide that the twisted flesh and gaping wounds that belong to our bodies hurt them more than it does us.
Half of us are dead before the last breath leaves our body,
Ghosts to our family and everyone else,
Only existing to be the punchline,
To a joke that we don't find funny.
My screams sound more like apologies,
And I'm choking on them.
They tell that my body is my home,
But home has never been safe for me,
Our lives are like nightmares that we can't wake up from,
And I'm just so tired at this point that I can barely find it in myself to care.
I think they've forgotten that we are human,
That if you cut me I bleed,
It's red, and it hurts.
Call me joke, call me lie, call me anything but my name!
Push me back in with all the other skeletons.
This closet is a coffin,
And I am 6 feet under.