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Ray Ross Sep 2018
Mixing ***** and juices,
On Tuesday morning, Monday night,
The parents are asleep.
The stars are so bright.

My body is a temple,
You're **** right.
If it feels good enough,
I'll respect it tonight.

Bandage my chest,
Hurts my ribcage,
I’m a ******* kid,
Shouldn't have to be brave.

You should've been a brother,
Should've got the name right,
Should've been her son,
Instead I'm drinking tonight.
Carter Ginter Jul 2017
While I likely have no rhythm
and tend to trip over my feet
that would hold back a dance.

While I have debilitating anxiety
that highlights others’ stares
I may still give it a chance.

No, see, the reason I won’t dance
has way more to do with my body
and the fact that I’m trans.

As I move through the world
I feel the weight of my identity
in both physical and mental distress.

Of course everyone has baggage
that doesn’t stop them from jiving
but not everyone has to carry it on their chest.

Dancing requires movement of my entire frame
but the person I see in my head
isn’t the one that light reflects.

How can I move without highlighting
the feminine figure my clothes conceal?

How can I jive
while hiding how my chest wiggles?

Can they tell?
What do they see?

The questions anchor my body to the ground
So I cannot move.
I cannot dance.
Eden Quinn Feb 25
I can´t breathe.
Feel a pressure
so strong
right beneath my chest.

I can´t breathe.
Three sport bras,
three elastics,
right on top of each other.

My back arches,
I can´t breathe.
I´m suffocating
but I would always
add another layer.


— The End —