Somewhere there exists a girl.
She is kind, and soft, and sweet,
And a reader, a lover of books.
She would read every one if she could
People say she looks just like her mother.
She doesn't know what to think.
Some place in the world there is a boy.
He is shy, and peaceful, and small,
He is adventurous, dreaming of planets unknown.
He would wander the galaxy forever,
Trailing after him stardust and clouds.
Nobody notices him.
Connecting them is one person.
They are creative, and caring, and bright.
Protective of the people they love,
Even if those people overlook them.
They feel too small to make a difference.
They want to find a purpose.
Three people, so very much alike.
Simalar in so many ways, yet still different,
Each unique in their own right.
All existing on the same Earth.
Seperate, but never apart.
They like being themselves and each other.
The only downside to their lives,
Is that that have to exist together,
Stuck in the same body, unable to change.
Each wishing to fit their own mold.
But they can't leave each other.
Sometimes the Girl in control.
She is the happiest of them,
She loves her body, which amazingly
Fits her, like the perfect glove.
She wished to make the others just as happy.
The In Between doesn't hate their body.
They like how soft they look some days
Like when they can look in between.
But they still feel wrong sometimes.
They don't feel like they can complain.
The Boy has it much worse than them.
When he has control his body is wrong,
The opposite of what he need to exist.
He deals with his problem though.
He binds his chest and wears button ups.
But that doesnt make it right.
Nobody knows that they share.
Most people are content being one thing.
With having a solid identity.
But it wasn't their fault, it is how they are made.
They didn't ask to be a river.
But they still follow the tides.
They wouldn't change who they are.
They get along fine with each aspect of themself
Compensating, trying to feel whole.
They have tricks to help them feel right.
But perfection doesn't exist.
Dysphoria comes as a storm.
Turing the river into a rushing waterfall,
Full of doubt and self-loathing.
Certain things help calm the storm,
But sometimes it just keeps raining.
They push through the floods
Of anxiety and doubt and fear.
Giving themself a bowtie for the Boy,
A beanie for the In Between,
A skirt for the Girl.
They persist.
And they live.
A poem about my gender-fluidity