I almost don’t want to voice my opinion
because I like staying in the back of the mix
but it’s hard to do.
Straight from the mind, the mouth,
of a transgendered person,
this is honesty.
I know that there are a lot of people going on about the bathroom laws right now.
It’s ridiculous we even have to get to laws for bathrooms.
They’re for
elimination,
but it generally doesn’t stay at that.
Gossip, vomiting, crying, ****, ******, etc. Things you’ll most likely, in this century, find in the walls of bathrooms.
People are posting the meme, about the ******. Trying to mix it in with these laws.
A ******,
who is a man,
and someone who is transgender, don’t fall into the same category, and even if it’s made to better the judgement of hate and redirect the criticism of keeping transgender people in a specific bathroom,
don’t compare.
Because he is a male, he is a ******.
We are not the same.
Now, recently, people are posting about the mass shooting and connecting the two.
Saying how the last thing they want to hear about is how dangerous a transgender person is in bathroom now.
And they’re correct, because it’s always the last thing on my mind. I hate myself, so you don’t have to.
I have enough hate in me for myself so everyone can leave me be, knowing its strong enough.
I don’t want to be me, I don’t want to be like I am and I live with that everyday. I haven’t been able to make peace with myself and love myself, yet.
But I hope I can eventually.
I just wanted to put this out there, so people can see this side of things. From someone who is transgender.
The last thing on my mind in the bathroom is: you.
I do not want contact with anyone in there.
I fear you. I am scared to be there.
I feel threatened. I feel in danger, not you.
You should be ashamed to feel such resentment towards someone you don’t even know, because I am in the one in danger, not you.
I feel ashamed I am afraid of you and that is embarrassing to say,
but I am.
So don’t dare make it about your safety, because you are the last thing on my mind,
I promise you that.
Being misgendered, being *****, being beaten, being murdered, slandered, assaulted, accused, uncertain, hated, dehumanised, alone.
Fear.
These are what I am thinking about when all I have to do is ***, but all I wanted to have to do was get groceries.
Or get McDonald’s, get cat food, my car fixed, an outfit, take my husband lunch, take my daughter to the park, etc.
I have a family I love, very much.
So yeah, you are the last thing on my mind when I just have to use the bathroom, and don’t even want to need to use one in public because I am so afraid for my safety and wondering if this time, is going to be the last time I walk in one and don’t get to go home to my family because of who I am.
I am sure people have reasons to fear what they won’t know or understand,
but understand this.
I know you have your own fears and your own needs and expectations, but so do I.
Don’t fear me, in the bathroom, because my fear is actually greater than yours,
I promise you that.
And honestly, that is the last on my mind, anyway.
**I just have to ***.

our existence
is placed in such an awkward position.
you never look at yourself,
until other people truly see you.
your mothers gleaming eyes sink your heart,
as you stand with your head held to the kitchen counter.
you suddenly feel like a stranger, in your own home
in such an awkward position.
standing in front of bathroom doors that have lit bombs, wounded many.
you stand suddenly as a criminal
in the middle of an awkward position.
having to correct someone when they use the wrong pronouns and you're heart races and the only thing your existence feels
is awkward.
life in the middle of a political battlefield
is drafting dysphoria between sides of yourself.
but,
someday you will find yourself in the lines of someone else's hands.
beauty is reflected in her eyes when she looks at you.
as we lay curled together,
neck bent, and limbs unendingly tangled,
I have never been happier
in such
awkward positions.

She just wanted to get away, she just wanted to be whole. She just wanted to find home. A place she could rest,  finally find a nest.  She just wanted a life with more peace and less strife.  Banging her head on the bathroom door,  screaming, crying,  and yelling "no more".  She could be anything she wants and more but instead she lays there...weeping...on the cold bathroom floor.

Many of my poems are as short as the words deviously written on the bathroom walls
But my thoughts are longer than any yard stick you can buy at a department store.
Facts are stranger than fiction
So is the expensive tuition.
Thirteen years of free education
Then a sudden fee.
I wonder?

Pink converse,
white tights,
And she's just hanging there.

I don't dare disturb her,
because somehow I knew
She wasn't real.

(My Mind Questions It)

So I peek...
Peek under the stall door,
to see nothing in it's place.

A tile floor.
Something thick,
it's covering every inch.
But, it is naked to my eyes.

The air is heavy.
Breathing in dense fog
and nothing comes out.

Who was she,
and why would my Hallucination be her death?
In suicide.

"Tomorrow you will be alright"
I comforted myself a near midnight.
Dragging the towel, moist from the sink
under my lower lids, I did never blink.

Makeup and water or makeup and tears
some may never now, as I
that lonesome, quite autumn night*
Though I lastly found with my poorly sight
that under my lids there were, well how to describe?
- I lowered the towel and looked even twice
Nothing as makeup were pouring down my eyes
but a still, matte
constant.


Sorrow

Now what about tomorrow?
I blinked and I shrank as I lowered my head in the sink.
Oh but never were I capable of washing off ink.

I have sticky skin
it's too humid outside and
looking through the bathroom mirror
into myself I think my
veins are sticky too
and maybe the blood in them
is too
I'm not sure
does moving blood make
your heart rate faster

all you people
u r losing it mummies frick the mummies
spinning in circles in Beatles boots
     C     I
S            R
E      L    C
of throbbing pulses
brand new birthmarks on
necks of people
why so empty
vacillating back and forth like miniature
seconds seconds of time
time like
breath marks in a piece of music
BREATHE beFore YoU dIe and it is over
the 'it' has yet to find a definition
this is a rhetorical question
why did you leave?

for lacy clothes under cotton
pants bought somewhere on the beach
in MuMbAi covering
a gentle sloping navel
u ppl
feeling nothing
like a rubber band snapped
on a leg covered in jeans
snapping a rubber band against my wrist
until it is red

feeling things
lips are stained with coffee
and my teeth taste sour
of caffeine
this is the song of the
Lost oNe

my arteries burn less now and
breathing without
laying backwards on the carpet
comes easily
lOsT OnE hasn't changed
but I
have