“Baby girl, you’re a tomboy”
“You need to look how I tell you to”

Youngest of five boys
Was supposed to be the baby girl
I never was
I’ve never been that
                        
            
             I told myself to fit the mold
There’s nothing wrong
There’s nothing wron
There’s nothing wr
...

Dysphoria kills
Hiding in the closet would be the cause of my death
I need to be me
But who am I?
My life has been spent shoving myself into a space never meant for me