I’m 19 years old
I’m ambidextrous
I hate bell peppers in my food
I still don’t have a driver’s license
And for as long as I can remember
I’ve had a fascination with hugs, Ginger Ale, and other people’s names
I believe there are only two people in the world:
Those who like spoken word
And liars
I’m not religious
My faith in God died before I could even figure out who He was
But in June 2019 I saw my nephew’s face for the first time and thanked whoever created humans that day
I go to a pretty standard college
Where thankfully my disabilities are taken seriously
And I don’t cry so much anymore
I know the best way to lawfully cheat to make your essays longer
Hint: the font size
But I don’t know the last names of any of the ladies who serve me food every day
I’m the transgender son of a man who still doesn’t want to believe it and would rather I be non-binary
The son of a woman who finds happiness in putting her children’s hopes and dreams down
I’m only 5’5”…on a really good day
But being built like a haiku in a poetry book is a lesson in finding ways to be seen as the tallest in the room
I don’t know what it means to be a man
And for a while, I thought dressing like a ******* could tell me
I’m still learning to unlearn the self-hatred inside me
Reminded every day that the ******* I have on my chest can be seen as male body parts if I had the humor to see it:
******* can be my misplaced ball-sack
I know that we all carry an addiction to property in our blood
I know that love cannot be owned in any way shape or form
Somedays, I am still the fourteen-year-old on the ground with my wrists pinned, being told to “shut the **** up” every time I see someone who looks like Him
I only watch two shows now but I know deep-down, iCarly and WOWP will always be the best **** Nickelodeon or Disney created
I know that the best actual company is not Disney or Pixar but DREAMWORKS
Because I like owning the fact that I am a male Yzma from The Emperor’s New Groove
I like being the first person in my life to go to a human rights march and actually WANT to be there
I was the tree that fell when no one else was looking and dared to make a sound
I am the Thanksgiving buffet that depression, anxiety, and an eating disorder tried to take apart piece by piece
I am living proof that those ******* didn’t know what they were getting themselves into
I am both survivor and boy
Every night, the sky opens its mouth and swallows the sun in a single gulp just to make room for the room
What a terrifying but amazing way to see our lives
To be so full of so much light but always hungry for more

You cause
a break inside my organs
Pointing out my flaws
our differences.
You are at peace.
I sit jittering, worrying
what everyone will think
of when I didn’t care
you made me laugh at
everything
Changes.  You’re not right for me
Nor I for you, but I can’t help
Thinking
What if?  Then I remember
you’re not what nor
Everything I want.

You are an intellectual snob you
have a depth about you
I would love to delve in,
a psychological study
that even the best critics would praise,
but I don’t want anyone else to have been there
or ever go there.
I cannot hold on to you
tear me away while
You’re haphazardly gluing us together
We’re a kindergarten art project
messy, trying to see
Beauty within the confusion,
unfinished    

You asked me
Where am I most at peace
4 years old.      
I could be anything
No fears
I hadn’t been ripped apart.
I was the girl that said everything,
until I felt the need to screen my thoughts,
like the filter you use to make your coffee
each morning.  I wish that’s where I was,
having you tell me
that you like your women like your coffee
Dark and bitter.

I can look past your chauvinistic ways,
not giving a **** about anyone.
You’re not really closed minded
You just act like it,
which annoys the hell out of me
Sometimes.  I wish life was simple.    
But then
I would never know your complexities nor
Feel the things you help me feel,
like hate for train whistles
or the burn of gin hitting my throat.
Music      
you introduce me to
offstage trumpets, bad movies.  Your politics,
your brown eyes      
and how you can hear frequencies
that most everyone else can’t.  I worry
that you hear
the fear in my voice and heartbreak
With every word I speak.

When were you going to tell me?
Or was that your plan all along?
To throw me out
like yesterday’s coffee grounds
or cut up scraps
Used and unwanted.
I wish I could tell you
to tell her you don’t want her
but me instead,
you don’t, I don’t want you to.
I want holding hands, laughter
comfort, personality, humor, intellect.
You want that plus things
I can’t give
But you always take.

You are your coffee
disgusting, caffeinated,
addicting
the only patch that helps is
comforting words you never spoke.
We had many conversations
of your desires, lusts, mistakes,
but I was burned,
by lies, distrust.
You left, like always,
a harsh, acidic aftertaste
on my tongue.

Throw rocks at my window,
Hold the boom box up high.
Send me on scavenger hunts,
Make me search far and wide.
Let me be your favorite song,
A tune you can never get out of your head.
Recall your fondest memories,
Those of when we first met.
Take me out to ball games,
Introduce me to all your friends.
I want to be your now and forever,
I want the cheesy moments to last a lifetime.
Take me in now and never look back,
We can have a life we create out of whack.

People of all ages sitting in a circle staring at the ground, ceiling, etc. a few twitching.

"Hi, I'm Fred."

"Hi Fred"

"I started this group because I found that I was on Hello Poetry 24/7. I got an account and I loved it. At first I was only on a little, posting one or two poems a day. But I loved it so much I began spending more time on it. It became a problem when I was fired for focusing on Hello Poetry instead of the heavy machinery I was operating. I was drinking so much coffee so I didn't have to sleep that I couldn't think straight. I began writing strange poems about adhesive sloths and grapes. My wife threatened to leave me if I didn't delete my account. I tried to stay off it but, it didn't work out. My wife took my kids and told me that I was too irresponsible. I responded with a limerick. She was very mad and left immediately after. I really want to stop being addicted to Hello Poetry and when I asked I got an overwhelming response from people who felt the same. If everyone could please introduce themselves in a clockwise direction."

"Hi… I'm… um… kittylover682"

"Hi kittylover682"

"So… I used to have a name, but now I can only remember my screen name. In fact, that is really the only part of my identity that remains. I miss obsessing over kitties and petting them, but now I just spend all my time on Hello Poetry. I used to have such a kitty-full life! I had so much potential! i made friends with every type of kitty, even new ones, i never discriminated. I met persian kitties, and alley kitties and tabby kitties and I went and pet them and showed them love… then i got kicked out of people's houses for sneaking in to pet their kitties… but my point is, kitties were my LIFE! And now, my life revolves around that little lightening bolt and i can only seem to speak in metaphors. That lightning bolt is the death of my heart, the thorn in my side, the electricity that warps my body and it just… it is a storm inside of my life. The agony when i see that my lightning bolt is not lit up with a notification… it is an undying fiery hell within my soul. I makes me want to… to… well, it makes me consider leaping off of cliffs or in front of trains… but the only thing that stops me is the hindering idea that I may have to get off of hello poetry for a few moments to go do that so I remain, under my bed on my computer, posting poetry, reading poetry, commenting, liking, reposting… its a VICIOUS CYCLE!!! WHAT HAPPENED TO ME?!!!!”

“Hi I’m DaPoet”

“Hi DaPoet”

“Like, kittylover682 I had a different name, but this is MUCH cooler. I don’t think I have a problem, because who says there is anything wrong with being a poet? Also I’m not a normal poet. All of my poems are also raps. I’m here because my mom thinks I have a problem. Apparently choosing poetry over sleep and school is not okay. I don’t understand her ‘logic’”

“Hi I’m DYING”

“Hi Dying”

“No, that’s not my name, who CARES what my name is?! I’m only still here and not on Hello Poetry right now because my sister has chained me to this chair and bolted it to the floor. She thinks I need help but I AM DYING! I need to get on it! I DON’T HAVE A PROBLEM! I’M FINE! I’M FINE! GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”

“Please calm down.”

“Shut up Fred!
There once was a man named Fred,
who got it into his stupid head,
that people needed to be cured,
of the obsession with the written word,
and as soon as I get unchained FRED IS GOING TO BE DEAD!”

“Okay… please stop creating violent limericks on the spot. We have all been there, there IS a way out.”

“I DON’T WANT A WAY OUT! I HATE TO SHOUT, BUT WITHOUT A DOUBT YOU ARE A BIG DUMB LOUT!”

“Okay, stop making really ****** rhymes please.”

“Well then… GIVE ME BACK MY LAPTOP!”

“Okay… let’s just move on. We’ll come back to you. Next person, please go on, I’ll duct tape his mouth shut. Silence is golden, but duct tape is silver, after all.”

“Hi I’m…Sally”

“Excuse me, could you put down your phone while you introduce yourself?”

“No… Oh my gosh, Poetry is Life started trending!”

“I’m sorry what?”

“My fourth latest poem started trending!”

“YAY!” *everyone claps and congratulates Sally

“No. No more Hello Poetry. We are supposed to stop obsessing over poetry and be cured from this addiction.”

“I don’t want to be cured.”

“I love Hello Poetry”

“Why don’t we change this to a spoken word club!”

“Yes!”

“Hi I’m DaPoet and I declare this a new spoken word club!”

“YAY!”

“No no no! I created this to-” Sally clubs Fred in the head with her phone and he drops dead

“YAY! FRED IS DEAD!”

“He was hit in the head”

“And we are now free”

“To write continuous poetry!”

“And become more obsessed instead!”

The end.


REPOST IF YOU REALLY NEED TO ATTEND THIS SUPPORT GROUP TOO LIKE US
PLEASE COMMENT! WE LOVE TO READ ANY THOUGHTS YOU HAVE!

I remember the feeling of falling
I remember what the feeling of love was like
I remember the texture of his hands on me
I remember being old enough to understand I was transgender
I remember hating my body till I weighed 90 pounds
I remember crying until all my tear ducts had dried up

Am I a bad person for not wanting to leave home yet?
to wait and see if my dad accepts me
because i have been told all of the stuff about T
my beard won’t even come in until after a year
if my voice cracks, i can just lie
but where’s the happiness in lying?
i want him to be there for me when i have my first shave
when my voice drops down a level
when I don’t feel like the body I was born in is something bad
i know this might be effects from abuse
and that what I’m feeling is guilt
but if this means I don’t have to lose someone I love
I can take that

Dear Elliana,
Your long, blonde hair is woven between the veins of my hearts which I do not love but can’t throw out
What can I say? I’m sentimental
Even though I have deleted every fragrance and reminder of you, the world still sees you before they see me
I still have a lot of your old makeup
The fear of wearing it brings a stomach ache
I liked your eyeliner though
You had good taste
I get told I looked better as you by family whose eyes see only your pronouns instead of mine
I am gifted dresses still in your name, and I throw them out immediately
They want you back but **** those poeple because they never even knew you
Dear Elliana,
I am sorry I had to **** you in my memories
I never imagined you would be a bad thing
A lot of my new friends don’t know you
Dear Elliana,
I am sorry I am shattering the mirror of your body
I want to sell your hips, gift your ******* to someone who wants them
I was born and you didn’t hurt yourself anymore
You force yourself out of my lips in a guilty conscience every time I see you in another’s eyes
Dear Elliana,
I remember when you met me
It was the year you turned thirteen
It was the first time you said out loud that you didn't want to live anymore
In therapy you said you wouldn't make it to 19
On my 19th birthday I thought about you
You were right
I've been trying to write this letter for 6 months
I still can't decide if it should be an apology or not
But now you will never hear "Elliana ***" announced at a college graduation,
Get married, give birth
Dear Elliana,
I start testosterone in two weeks
I know what will happen when it starts taking effect
My body will stop being able to produce the potential for new life every month
I thought about your children, how I wanted them too
You will never be a grandparent
I’m sorry
You will never hold your lover’s sleeping figure
I’m sorry
You will never hear “Mommy! Watch me on the slide!”
I’m sorry
The child you saw in your dreams will never wrap their arms around your legs for comfort
I am sorry
The testosterone will come and you will become a memory I wish to forget
I am sorry
I apologize for the people who see me as a mistake, as something disgusting
I ask myself:
Am I a mistake?
Am I disgusting?
No, I don’t think so anymore
Dear Elliana,
You had a place
Never forget that
You still do
Just not the way you planned
Yours, Taron
P.S I never hated you
Even though sometimes I wish I could
P.P.S
The one thing we both hated will soon be gone
I soon say goodbye to your cheeks!