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