at seven years old
when a switch was thrown
and suddenly i knew that
something wasn’t quite right
i did not feel courageous

i was so scared
feeling nailed inside
this coffin of a body
that no longer felt like mine

there were no words
that my tongue could wrap around
to verbalize how wrong it felt
when i was called daughter
so i swallowed that bitterness
and felt it like a
twisting knife in my guts

and i did not feel courageous
i did not feel brave
as i clawed my way out
of that pink box i had been
involuntarily thrown into

but i have been told that
i am brave
i am courageous
i am strong
for being transgender
and i don’t know what
to do with that

and it was not bravery
that had me telling my mother
i needed her credit card number
to buy a cheap chest binder
off of amazon
because i was really a boy

i had decided i would
not be dying as a woman
and be buried in a nice dress
with the wrong name
and gender on my tombstone

i decided then
standing in the kitchen
of the little cabin we lived in
16 years old and terrified
that i would make myself
into a bright light of a boy

and i really don’t think
of that as being a courageous act
it was one of preservation
of finally deciding that
living was better than surviving

and the funny thing is
that makes people see me as brave
and i don’t know what to do with that
because i was scared then
and i have been scared since

the only difference is
i am going to live long enough
this time around
so that i just might be
able to see what people mean
when they tell me i am brave

When someone compliments you:
If you can help it, do not flinch back,
stare in paralyzed awe and shock,
run hurriedly away from the room,
or try to decline and deny it;
however politely.
Meet the compliment-giver’s eyes,
stand tall and unashamed,
smile, if it is manageable,
and say simply, “Thank you.”
And if it still feels unbearable,
compliment them genuinely back.
(And if you find you truly believe it, this compliment, believe it rather than simply accepting it for politeness’ sake - then remember that you have done no wrong, that pride in work well-done is not egotistical, can still be humility.)

The words ‘I Love You’:
Are not words that apply
only for one specific context,
Do not automatically designate
relative, partner, child -
“friend” can also be encompassed.
These words, also, need not be used sparingly
if the feelings behind them are honestly meant.
Relationships do not always last, and neither do people.
(However short, however long, however imperfect or wondrous, you are allowed to (and need to) have attachments to other people. And you are always allowed to tell people that you love them. Even if (especially if) you will not know them for very long.)

Not being fine:
is okay.
You can bury yourself in some else’s arms until you remember how to breathe on your own again.
You can cry until your tears count up to be enough to fill a desert.
You can sit and sit an stare into space, paralyzed.
And you are not weak.
Just human, apparently.
With too few gadgets to replace a beating heart.

Affection is like building blocks:
step by step and always with permission.
Because to you, touch is foreign.
Is the hugs you exchange with your parents when one exits the country.
Is the occasional good night kiss on the cheek.
Is sparse.
So the first time you realize hugs can be beneficial is when it’s been an awful week and your friend gives you one, and for once it feels like you’re not alone.
But you still find yourself flinching away afterwards, even once you realize the word hug can be synonymous with the word safe.
So you hugging people is sporadic.
Until the second day you forget how to breathe, how to smile, and hugs might just be what saves your life.
Giving back is gradual, but it happens. You learn how to tone down your urge to flinch back, learn how to offer affection instead of only taking it, learn that it has a place. Learn to shelter, rather than stare.

Anger, Rage, and Fury:
burn fast and burn bright,
are better used as rocket fuel
than wild forest fires,
are better cut short than long,
are better in measured doses,
but still have their place.
Because you must be feeling
at least some of the time,
and outward rage hurts less
than turning it inward.
And to feel anger, yes,
you have to accept,
just for a while,
that you are worth something,
and, as such, have a right to feel,
have a right to ignore
the empathetic part of you
and say that your own feelings
deserve equal measure of chaos.
And then you raise your voice
until you are shouting, and tears are streaming down your face.
And you blame the world because it’s easier
than degrading a specific person, and apologize to it after.
And you take someone with you who will still stay by your side in the aftermath, and you let them guide you home.
Because sometimes,
Fury is easier to channel
than sadness, or hurt,
is safer in ways that are often missed, is a guide back to the vividity of the world, to the shining street lamps and old, used, train tracks, to the screaming array of colors that appear in parks and crowds, and the rage is a way of being able to see it all again, new,
think, “Beautiful,” and mean it.

Loyalty is bravery:
speaking up for something,
for someone,
and standing beside them in silence
may be a show of solidarity,
but at some point it is your duty
to stand in front of
and directly take
the fire meant for them,
for when they can’t,
when they shouldn’t have to,
and even when they feel invincible enough that they do not need you.
Because they chose you.
Silent, shy, well-meaning, playing both sides of every story, self-deprecating, lonely, abandoning, forgiveness-inducing, and occasionally flippantly heartless. You.
And you let them.
And you stayed.
And you chose them back.
So sometimes, there are no right sides, but when you think it should matter, when it does matter, you choose. And keep choosing.
And make your stand, because it’s right. And because you know that betrayal hurts even in subtlety.

You are not worthless:
and this is still a point of debate.
But of everyone who leaves, who you leave too - forced departure does not (necessarily) equate they are glad to get rid of you. And making that assumption, perhaps, has been an incorrect one. So leaving, does not actually equal losing - not always.
And you should let others figure out the good in you, because you did not coerce them into choosing it. Because you are allowed
to let someone guide you
to the more shallow end of the river,
believe you are worth
something enough,
to have someone pull you up
from the alluring blue of drowning.
And sometimes, every so often,
you do something good and well,
and beyond useful.
And in those moments, you are not worthless,
and something other else later - it does not negate that worth.

We're almost touching.
we were walking side by side,
you're talking about cabs in your hometown.
I can feel the gravity of your hand, calling my fingers
whispering "it's alright."

We're touching but not quite.
you held my shoulder to protect me from the passing cars.
and for the first time in a long while, I felt so fragile.
In this world where I find it hard even to breathe,
you believed me.

I almost said it.
All I need is one ounce of strength to tell you every single thing that I have ever felt about you.

I want to find home in your collarbones.
Would you be kind enough to let a stranger in?
I want to seep in your being because I'm cold.
The world is harsh and my cracks are aching.

Almost.