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Abel 7d
On the first day, I was born into a wrong body.
On the second day, I turned into a mirrored copy.

On the third day, I pushed everyone away.
On the fourth day, begged anyone to stay.

On the fifth day, I cried on my own.
On the sixth day, I was completely alone.

On the seventh day, I found myself,
But at that point, I was only a living shell.
Quick poem after a difficult day that popped up in my brain.
Kaiden Lewis Dec 11
The reason you're hated, the
Reason your life is miserable, everyone is
Against you just because you're alive.
Nobody sees you as the true gender you are, they only
See you as a confused freak. They say that
God created you to be whatever you were born as,
Even though you're extremely uncomfortable because of it.
No one understands you, they see you as an abnormality.
Dysphoria begins to take over your body, mind and soul, the
Everlasting hate spreading around you. Being transgender is
Rough.
Another acrostic cuz they're cool, i dont care what others say
I wonder, a lot of the time,
what it would be like if I were born a
boy.

Would I be happier?
Relieved from this feeling to over-masculinize myself
to combat the more obvious feminine features...

The "girl" voice
"Girl" body
"Girl" hair
"Girl" name
"Girl" demeanor
"Girl"
"Girl"
"Girl"

Baby
"Girl"
...

What if I were born a baby
"Boy"

Well then, that wouldn't make it any better, now would it.

Then it would all be,
"Boy"
"Boy"
"Boy"
"Boy" demeanor
"Boy" name
"Boy" hair
"Boy" body
"Boy" voice

So, even if my chromosomes were lost an X, had a Y instead,
I would still be bound to the same fate.
The same hurt that is gender dysphoria.

Society-
or, God?-
has only made two categories,
two choices
two sexes
two lives
two boxes.

I wonder, then,
what it would be like
if that wasn't so.
Mercy Nov 3
When I gaze into the mirror,
I see no reflection,
When they take my picture,
There is no image to capture,
It feels as though I do not exist,
No connection between my body and soul,
When silver strikes, I still feel it,
Yet I do not claim it as my own,
I yearn for a body that captures my essence,
One day,
I will confront the shadows that haunt my soul
Smile to all of them to make everyone's day better
But then your mouth starts to hurt
but you keep on smiling
because who am I if I don't advert—
my eyes from everything, they're all lying
It's 11 at night, I want to sleep
but sweat trickles down my neck as I weep
The labels are crushing me telling me what to be
I just want to recognize myself in the mirror and say "Hey! That's me!"
I am tired of being the stupid and dumb friend
but if I'm not, I might not be able to mend
Mend the souls of those who cried when nights were stormy
And I know someone would do the same for me
but it feels selfish if I don't say sorry.
GUYS I SWEAR I'M LESS EMO NOW. IK THIS IS NOT A GOOD POEM I WROTE IT ALMOST A YEAR AGO <\33 I'M JUST DOCUMENTING ALL MY POEMS ON HERE FOR MY SILLY LITTLE GOODREADS FOLLOWERS
as I am numbed in euphoria by
the closeness of his embrace,
the eclipse which held me in paralysis
slowly bleeds in the sky
as it anchors a crescent light of passion.

oh, he has held the disaster of my body
in his palm and has laid me naked upon him.

tucked neatly among the webbings of his fingers
is a whispering lily that sings me to sleep.

the sphere of black,
fixated upon the sky,
is melting...

I weep to see his loving eyes
pour over the deprived valley
that is the entirety of my being.

yet...
It is as if this man,
and his exposed nakedness encompassing me,
is the coming season of warmth
which teaches me nourishment...
blood poetry
if I told you I died 5 times today,
would you believe me?

now,
in the horizon there,
my passion hangs on
a weak branch
stained of copper.

oh,
so timeless is the upset of ruin...
feeding the crows who leave
their feathers upon me,
making me black...
blood poetry
he looks upon every
disturbing part of me
with faith,

as if I were never dangerous; forever delicate...

when we stare into
one another, the thousand
ghosts of everything
I am ashamed of become pacified...
blood poetry
there is a lovely green lotus

unfolding from the center of his eye,

as if the iris that looks upon my desperate body

is the darkened water from which it sprouts...
blood poetry
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