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ollie 6d
i realized i had been born in the wrong body
when i was thirteen
shortly after my grandmother died
shortly before my fourteenth birthday
shortly realizing my body had been made shorter than was necessary
watching a movie with my younger sister
and realizing
that she was crying
but my eyes were glass
incapable of being born to cry
it was a sad movie
but i was more absorbed in my own thoughts
spinning this web around
pressing my body back down
puberty turns everyone upside down
i wanted to turn my skin inside out
nobody likes acne
i found parts of my body rising in areas other than my face
the difference was
you cannot pop your chest
i felt fear
in ways not unmatched by how i feel when i’m told to think about my future
i was scared
how do you just deal with
living in the wrong body
and god made it known
that the answer was
wear clothes that don’t fit you
a baggy t-shirt cannot hide
my vocal cords
when i’m rambling
or my height
no matter how tall i stand up
when i’m asked
what i would say to one person that i’d been too scared to tell them
i do not hesitate in saying
“i’d say ‘i’m sorry, i was too scared to tell you’”
but i am lying
because i would say
i’m sorry
over and over
i’m sorry
for not being born as your granddaughter
the way i should’ve been
and in some ways
when i wear a suit to my performance
and ask if the one sitting next to me has been binding their chest
for a few hours longer than is safe
i wish
that i had the opportunity
to break my own ribs
the way they do
because i would like
nothing more
than to have trouble breathing
if it meant
i was allowed to recognize my reflection
wrote this after a tournament also i hate being trans
Arden Sep 23
there are days my body doesn't  
support me  
hold me close and protect me  
there are the days that I am a clay figure  
molded by clumsy hands shaped  
with curves where there should be flat  

a persona of who I am     who I want to be  
there are the days when I avoid mt reflection  
yet want to check to make sure it matches  

these are the days when my reflection  
NEVER  
matches who I am  
my insides twist in disgust and I want to  
crawl out of myself  

these are the days  
my body is a secret I never want to revel  
when my steps are unsure and my face is  
set to "boy mode"

these are the days that I watch guys and  
imitate them  
stealing their walk hoping  
I can steal their identity so I don't have to  
live my own

these are the days my heart hurts  
when I am called her, she  
when a pronoun becomes an insult and  
these are the days when I wish  
my mind wasn't so deadset against my happiness
that I could just "feel" girl  

these are the days every day
Arden Sep 23
I look at my chest the way I'd look at a wound
I know its a part of me  
I know its there  
but it feels temporary  
and a little gross
like I sliced my thumb  
on glass at 1 am  
my binder is a bandage  
and it's hard to take off
because the wound will open up  
And my back hurts wearing from bandage  
But it's so much better than  
Seeing where my skin splits in two
Arden Sep 23
There is a boy in my closet
The boy is friendly but stays hidden
When I look in the mirror there he is
I became jealous of who he is
He says he wants to come out  
I decided to ignore it
But the curiosity grew bit by bit
Until I could barely stand it
"CUT YOUR HAIR"
But when I went downstairs my unapproving mother stood there
The boy wasn’t at ease with what our plan began to be
Because in reality, the boy was really me
But all people can see is she
That part wasn’t cut out for me
I don’t understand the big deal if I'm a he
Arden Sep 23
You call me
She, her, daughter, girl
Shhhhhh…
You speak with a blind mouth,
Look at me, see me
She isn't me
Only a fantasy that you clutch
I'm not broken, I'm free

Long hair
lipstick
lace dress
You question me every time I show you my truth
"Are you trying to hide your femininity?"
No, my femininity is simply not my definition
Spend a day in my skin, in my cage
And don't cry when the words start to pierce you like daggers.

Shhhh… stay silent, don’t worry its just a phase
Now do you see the "She" just doesn't make sense
You speak to me but your voice seems distant,
Bouncing off and echoing
My parents made me
Wear a skirt, and a short sleeved t-shirt.
The only reason they didn't see
The scars that covered my arm
Is because they bought make up for me 2 days ago, in which I hid the scars.
"Because you're a girl."
Right now, I ******* feel like
'Micheal in the bathroom'
Anyway, I'm gonna continue crying in closeted trans now, bye.
A "poem" every day.
I sit around chewing bubble gum
Its flavor dull, and flat.
I spit it out into the greasy, stained waste bin.
It stares back at me angrily, lying next to
Some brown boxes, random yard waste,
An oily blue rag, and a raging red
Hunk of plastic, which once was a fire engine,
My misery reflected in its misshapen contours.
I’m trapped in my world
Of fake “How-do-you-dos”
And tepid conversation about the weather.
Each day is an agony and every moment, surreal.
I cry for a body that is not mine.
My soul burns with each passing lie I tell someone
When they ask who I am.

I hate love songs, happy songs, and celebrations!
They are never for me.
They are the bubble gum I scrape off my shoe
As I walk down the aisle to watch the latest horror movie.
The violence on the screen,
Only slightly assuages the rage… in my female soul,
Bound for eternity in a hairy, meaty prison.
I always feel like ****!
A female mind forever warped
By this absurd male body.
The lies I tell become my little deaths.
Little deaths are pain and envy.
Pain and envy are like bubble gum…
Endlessly mashed together and sticky.

A woman sashays past me,
An unknowing feminine tyrant
Enjoying my salvation with the
Parting of her pretty red lips,
The sway of her baby-making hips,
And her graceful, yet sleek fingertips.
She delicately sits, her soft pleasant voice
Floats back up to me. Dysphoria level: CRITICAL!
She dictates my days and nights...
Inadvertently taunting me as she giggles with her friends.
But my eye’s long drinks
Of her crisp, cool water were never
About my thirst.

-MorganLA
I truly love women.
Boy
When I stare at my face,
And look deep in the mirror,

It's never the love that creeps in,
Always the 'horror'

I see a girl standing there.
An average looking girl.

She's not to tall,
But also not short.

She has brown hair up to her shoulders,
With blue and indigo streaks in it.

She's wearing pants that are a little bit too big,
Because her disorders make her lose weight.

She's wearing a red and black 'lumberjack blouse'
It's a little too big, it's from the men's departement.

She has a pretty small mouth,
But her lips are pink, and kind of plumped

She has bushy eyebrows,
But not in an **** way?

She has beautiful grey, blue, green eyes.
It depends on the day and her mood.

She has a little bit of a crooked nose,
That a tiny bit too big for her face.

She has a chubby face, not so much
But she's a little chubby over all.

She has braces on her teeth,
But that's pretty common these days.

She has a pretty normal body,
Normal figure, a little on the "fat" side.

She has an arm full of scars,
But they have always been there, so it's fine.

And all of the above,
Every day that's what I see.
But what I see in the mirror,

She's a girl.

She   is   not   me.
Dysphoria Days.
Romann Sep 12
My body is a temple
To which I’ve lost the key.
Everyone thinks its outside is wonderful
But I, inside, see how vile it is.

It’s easy to judge beauty
When you’re beholding, and not being.
I feel trapped inside a giant of stone
Unwavering and unbearable.

I want to be vulnerable.
To feel pain, joy, and sorrow.
So why, why?
Why must I remain in this stoic prison?
I've lost sight of what I am. But I know what I am not.
moke Jun 28
her
all of my nightmares are becoming half-realities
and i am the only person chasing them
i'm waiting on too many half-answers
on things i can only half-see
i feel only half-me
a collection of poems i am only just now making public
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