So my mental illnesses and I are talking
In my head
And it looks like one of those support groups
And I'm sitting in the middle
They all have their own outfits
Anxiety wears a hoodie, my favorite pants
Depression wears pajamas that I've worn three days in a row
Autism is wearing the third new outfit that day
PTSD is wearing what I wore that Christmas day when my childhood ended

TW : eating disorder, suicide attempt, abuse

In my phone
There’s a contact name that’s just swear words
The occasional bad bad word that I can say in therapy but don’t in public
And it’s my mom’s contact name
I changed it after our 1millionth fight
Right before I left for uni
Because she called me fat
And at the time I was five months sober of my eating disorder
Maybe sober isn’t the right word but whatever
And my brain snaps
I scream and cry
She screams back at me
I call her “fat” back because I’m mad
And I spend the night sobbing
I even call my abusive dad who chose to leave therapy because he thinks he’s getting better
He hasn’t left his girlfriend who restricted food from me yet so, are you sure Dad?
And he tries the whole facetime while I audibly cry to not sound mean about her
And I thank him for trying in my head
Because my mom only refers to him as slurs or Satan
I eat the entire cake she got me in the fridge the next day
Before even noon
I feel bad immediately after but at least she can’t have any
And then I’m suddenly jealous that she didn’t have any
So no weight gain
I drink two cups of iced coffee with that extra calorie Starbucks syrup
And then my sister gets me Popeyes
She gets me this after yelling at our mother
Because we don’t really talk that much openly
But we both have our own scars from her words
Mine developed into eating disorders, cuts on my legs, and just general mental illness
Hers just developed into being a rock solid wall
When my mom comes home and sees me eating
She takes a bite

The morning after I killed myself, I woke up
I walked up the creaky stairs and made myself coffee
My favorite Dunkin Donuts cup, filled to the top with ice, coffee left out from the night before, and chocolate milk
I wiped the coffee off the counter and filled the dishwasher
I added salt to my avocado with eggs and toast
I sluggishly made my bed
The morning after I killed myself, I fell in love
Not with the girl I talk to everyday on my phone
Or the grocer who always smiled extra long at me
I fell in love with my mother as she sat in my room,
Looking through each notebook, looking for all the signs
Dusting off the rainbow flag I never took out of it's packaging
I fell in love with my brother, who worked desperately at the construction site,
Making new things as he tried to forget I wasn’t there to say “How was work?"
When he comes home
I fell in love with my niece,
Texting my friends what happened,
Crying in the same room we laughed and had sleepovers in
I watched the family dogs,
Who pointed their nose when squirrels run past
I saw the empty space in Stella’s eyes
When she jumped on my bed to snuggle and there was nothing under the covers
I saw the coldness in Maple's heart as she searched and searched my room for me
How Mama cuddled into the blankets, waiting for me
I stood by as she protected my Mom during walks, just as she used to do for me
I picked the purple flowers and some dandelions on the side of the house
And put them where I used to sit in the woods
The morning after I killed myself, I stayed up all night to watch the sun come up
The morning after I killed myself, I went to the morgue and gazed at that body
Wondered if death was truly worth it
I carefully touched all the scars, all the markings no one ever saw but us
I told him about the avocado toast, the friends, the dogs, the woods, and his family
I told him about the sunsets and the brother and the warm blankets
The morning after I killed myself, I cried and cried

I mention me being in therapy during my Gender & Women's Studies Class zoom
And there's silence
A very long silence that leaves me wondering 'are people judging?' 'are people piting me?'

There's no good answer

My teacher changes the subject and I'm left feeling guilty
For wanting to get better
For wanting to stop hurting myself
For wanting to understand why my parents abused me

I wonder how many teachers wonder what I do when I turn off my microphone and camera during zoom
I'm not checking my phone or I'm camera shy
I'm crying in the basement
No one upstairs in the house can hear me
No one in class can see or hear me

We're in small groups now
I fear people can tell I was crying
There's another silence
And this time it's sadder than the one before

My friend 'it's okay i go to therapy too'
I say 'i know'
I'm left wondering why no one said anything
Why there was a hushed silence?
Why was I supposed to feel guilt for something that's not my fault?
That's never been my fault?

Do you know what it's like to be left alone in love?
Do you know what it's like to feel stuck in love?
Do you know what it's like to be too depressed?
Do you know what it's like to have to beg for forever from your family who neglects your identity?
Do you know what it's like to lose everything?
Do you know what it's like to wait?
Do you know that I will never be too near or too far away?
Honestly, I'm still waiting for closure.
Do you know how it feels to constantly chase memories?
Do you know I've got miles of scars no one's ever seen?
And an appetite.
And a sweet tooth.

I was born on December 19th at about 11:43 pm.
I've never been able to tell if I'm being insulted or complimented.
I can get away with blaming my indecisiveness on being me.
I'm 5'5. I weigh who knows how much.
I'm scared of my mom.
I'm a real sucker for people with dimples and comfy leggings with giant pockets.
I can't drive.
I like iced coffee and writing poetry more than the oxygen I need to survive.
I have strange fascinations with things like ratted, old Converse and the shape of my self-made scars.
They remind me that everything is temporary, but the pain stays.
I assume this is why I'm obsessed with drawing my scars as different things: stars, trees, a new poem.
I watch the sunset from a hammock every night.
Sometimes, I ask myself why so much of my time is invested in things that are only temporary and hope they come back.
I'm afraid of heights but not falling and I often wonder if I would survive stepping off a cliff's edge.
I also wonder what my clothes whisper about me now that I've left the closet.
I spent so long hiding amongst the skeletons that hung there that I'm not sure how to appear alive anymore.
I get called a number of things, both good and bad, but my name is Taron.
I'm clumsy.
I don't laugh easily.
I enjoy Korean music and strawberry yogurt.
My hobbies include avoiding love, vandalizing people's thoughts with my anxiety, and coming up with masks, I mean metaphors.
I have 1,154 followers on Twitter.
I can't think of anything to say to them that actually matters.
I knew that, right now, I am in both heaven and hell.
I know that Google shows 2.8 million results how to tie a nose for hanging yourself.
I know that I haven't become anything yet but i have an entire box of unfinished poems.
This is only a draft copy of myself.
I am not done writing just yet.

I love love though it's hard to put that into loving myself
I love the Netflix movies that everyone hates, Irish Breakfast tea, how potato chips taste so good
I love the shade of blue called Prussian and singing in the shower and Paul Rudd
I love "The Marvelous Mrs. Maisel" and how ******* amazing everyone about it is: the plot, the cinematography, the music
I want to write about love because I come from a generation where if I identity as aroace, that means I am a robot who can't feel anything
I love sunsets and how hard it is not to fall in love with sunsets
Other people should love too
Fall in love with Mother Nature and her child the Earth instead
Fall in love with the water that feels cool no matter what season
Fall in love with the air that helps us all breathe and doesn't get mad if it gets left on read
Fall in love with the moon because it will always be there every night to say "hello" and won't leave you on read
Fall in love with the people learning how to love themselves and remind them that you'll be there to tell them each reason why your dimples appear when you think of them
How do you not love, I often wonder
I love that my friends know they can lean on my shoulder and just cry and I will be there to give them ice cream, hot tea, and pats on the back
I love that my therapist knows just what I need in a bad mood or in one of our more sad conversations
I love that the friends I made in college understands what it means to be afraid of me in your life and how hard it is to let someone touch you
I love how awesome it is when you finally figure out what you do
I love that my therapist agree that dysphoria is a scientific word, not a gender identity

More than quiet trips to the library
More than a cup of delicious iced coffee
More than canceling Friday night plans
More than Tumblr and Pinterest
More than a new book that hasn’t been opened yet
More than the old bookstore smell
More than the coffee shop no one knows about so I’m the only one in it
More than finishing my homework early
More than writing a new page of my book

I love you...
More than quiet trips to the library
More than a up of delicious iced coffee
More than cancelling Friday night plans
More than Tumblr and Pinterest
More than a new book that hasn’t been opened yet
More than the old bookstore smell
More than the coffee shop no one knows about so I’m the only one in it
More than finishing my homework early
More than writing a new page of my book

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

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!

Tragedy wraps their soft blanket around me
Their own scars I can see plainly
They are shaped like cruel words
Their soft voice whispers, "He's gone. Don't be afraid."
Their soft blanket weaves the comfort into my soul and broken heart
The animals burned in the fire come back to life
The yarn sews it's way in and replaces my veins
My heart is protected with a lock and key
Tragedy throws the key into a lake blackened by Greed and smiles, twirls their skirt, and shouts, "Come on. We've got a planet to save."

Person A: There's a lot of beautiful red apples. Why do you choose ugly and flawed apples?

Person B: Because it will be left in the basket. Someone else will take pretty ones. I'm one of the only people who will take them.

Person A: Why do you say that?

Person B: My life is always backstage.

Person A: Backstage?

Person B: There are people who are standing in front of the stage like you. Some people are behind the scenes like me. Do you know why I'm good at mixing drinks? When I watched couples do it on dates while I was alone. There's only one way to enjoy that situation for me. But you know what? When girls go on a blind date, they take me with them. To make them look prettier, they hope that I will stand at backstage.

You don’t have to hate all of your body to be trans
That’s a repeat I have to say every day but you really don’t have to
I like my broad shoulders and my curly sideburns and my singing voice
I like the way my dimples only show when I’m actually smiling and that people on the internet and at poetry readings are honestly happy for me for being out and proud
I love how my exercises have my voice even a little bit deeper and that despite not being on testosterone, I can still feel somewhat okay
I like my creative brain and how I don’t like math but am good at algebra
I like that I got my driving permit test right on one try
I like that I am slowly starting to mute my mother’s comments about my thighs and my driving and my disabilities

Title: Not My Fault

It’s summer of 2019
I haven’t gotten a job
Though I have applied to so many
Not my fault

It’s winter of 2013
I am on a bed bent backward
My skin for only his to see
Not my fault

It’s fall of 2019
I didn’t get the job at Disney
Though I met the qualifications in the resume and cover letter
Not my fault

It’s fall of 2018
I’m finally, to everyone’s eyes a boy,
But my mother speaks a different gender from her lips
Not my fault

It’s spring of 2019
It’s getting out so I put on shorts
My scars and my thighs are in full view
My mother tells me how ‘chunky’ I look
Not my fault

It’s spring of 2019
I’m graduating from high school
I’m supposed to be cheering
But instead, I am screaming soundlessly from a bathroom
The male teacher who had gotten fired the next week tells me to shut up
Not my fault

It’s summer of 2019
I’m trying to get the medication I need
So I can finally feel like a boy in my body
My father says I am boy enough with this ‘ugly *** haircut’ and my ‘giant thighs’
Not my fault

My past life was not a rosy picture
Doors slammed on my face
My heart was closed, sealing in anxiety and PTSD

‘You can write, but you’re not what we’re looking for’
‘It’s not like you can’t sing, but you don’t fit in with the vision’
‘Cut your face and we’ll consider you for our company’

Just when did ‘pretty’ become the cutline for a person?
When did someone’s job only entail dancing and looking good for the cameras?
For a chance at debuting my words on a small screen, do I lower my dignity?
Never

With my voice alone, I know I’m worthy
My passion is an everlasting beauty
If being a flower shined in the spotlight means tearing out my roots, I’d rather be moss growing in the shade
Wherever my path leads, I’ll thrive. Every obstacle will be my foundation to climb to the top

My past life was not a rosy picture
Doors slammed on my face
My heart was closed, sealing in anxiety and PTSD

‘You can write, but you’re not what we’re looking for’
‘It’s not like you can’t sing, but you don’t fit in with the vision’
‘Cut your face and we’ll consider you for our company’

I miss the days when expectations weighed less than my looks
I’m forever anxious about all the things that I lack
Scavenger hunts have turned to road maps
No time to wander or discover hidden paths

Stay the course, eyes straight ahead,
Grow up if you want to get ahead
Are we there yet? Am I there yet?
When will I cross this finish line called success?

Have you seen my childhood?
My lost innocence and dreams?
I’m searching for that wonder that made everything gleam
Like jewels in a pirate’s chest or the stars in the Milky Way
I wish I can return to those carefree days
I wish I had never changed
Why did I have to change?

I remember a handsome evil man led me to a company one day
Promising me a fortune and all my wishes met
I was a blank sheet, was too innocent for this world
Stupidly I let myself in
In doing so, I also let my legs open and my heart stretched out
I flew higher than the sky, hoping for my dreams, only to be burned
Someone, please save me

Have you seen my childhood?
My lost innocence and dreams?
I’m searching for that wonder that made everything gleam
Like jewels in a pirate’s chest or the stars in the Milky Way
I wish I can return to those carefree days
I wish I had never changed
Why did I have to change?

I was born in December 2000 at 11:53 pm
Miss Congeniality came out that year
I still watch that movie
I’m 5’4.5”…on a really good day
I’m 133 pounds
I don’t know how to dance
And I’m a sucker for over-sugared, terrible coffee
Man, choking on sugar seems like the sweetest way to die!
I’m still learning how to be an adult
It’s difficult because I want my parents to constantly be there
But I get annoyed with them when they’re constantly there
I like Naked smoothies…. a lot
I’ve been told that I’m really bad at telling jokes
I’m bad at telling jokes because I go into too much detail
I’m bad at telling jokes because I still don't get them
I have a strange fascination with hugs
Ask my best friend, it’s true
I think it’s because you can’t see the other person’s face when you hug them
So what if that hug means something else you don't even know about?
I’m clumsy
Yesterday, I tripped over my brain, landed on my heart, and it shattered like a broken phone against the pavement
I'm afraid of writing an obituary
Maybe because I wonder if it's going to be written by me for me
I'm sure this sounds weird but I wonder what my laptop say about me when I’m not around
I wonder what the Word documents would say if they could read what I’ve written on their skin
I wonder what my pens would say,
If they knew,
If they knew that I use them,
To pour out my heart and soul on to something that can never actually love me back
Hi
My name is Jace
It’s a name my best friend gave me
I enjoy snuggling, singing and crying until I’m smiling again
But I don’t let my guard down as often as I should
I have solar power compassion
And a battery operated smile
My hobbies include:
Faking my confidence to my friends,
Hiding behind a past that doesn’t define me,
And trying to convince my smile that it's not fake