when i feel the burning sensations often i feel like if i burn my fingers i can make it quell
but not go away completely,
the burning covers my thighs and lower stomach and i push my fingers into it but it’s never enough, and yet too much
the burning mixes with a feeling i can’t describe that brings tears to my eyes
i try to push it down because the burning hurts and my fingers are covered in flame
but it’s never enough
and yet too much

dysphoria is a funny thing
i hold toys in place of what i miss
i push up and down trying to ignore
the pangs i feel in the chest that isn’t mine
dear god please let me finish this time
they all say hope will make the burning worse
but there isn’t much worse i can go from here
and yet it scares me all the same

i shudder once
a broken sound
it’s better than before
but not enough
and yet too much

i took your name
as my own;
i liked it,
and wanted it love it
as much as i loved you;
because if i do not have you
i have something to hold on to

A black snake coiled itself around him last night,
until it rolled him 'round and 'round with his legs kicking
and he nodded off into sleep with his eyes teary and his ribs aching from the fight.
The great serpent eased up around him,
but once more in the day and well into the next night,
it constricted his bones to the point of breaking,
and through the lies and false promises of the reptile
he cried and cursed his life, his birth, his body.

m y
   b o d y
       i s
           t o o m u c h

m y
     b r a i n
    d o e s
             n o t
       e n o u g h

When I look in the mirror,
What do I see?
I see a 'girl' i see everything I'm not.

Wearing dresses to concerts
And makeup to parties
Why can't I wear a suit?

Being eloquent and fancy
"Dont mess up your hair!"
Why can't my hair be shorter?

Nails manicured to perfection
Painted a hot pink
Why can't they be painted blue..?


Its like tar
Sinking into my stomach
I can feel it weighing me down

I cant speak, I can't tell.
I can't get help for no one knows
How do I get rid of it..?


I grip my hair with both hands and pull
I can f e e l it tearing
I can f e e l my head bleeding
But i dont care because at least my hair is shorter, and at least some pressure is gone.

I paint with the silver and watch as my canvas turns red.
I make sure it goes across the stream and not with the flow..
I make sure to clear up afterwards.

"Why cant you be normal?"
"What's with the weird attitude"
"Its just a p h a s e"

I run home crying after school.
Its only 3pm
My parents get home at 5 pm

I go to the bathroom and grab my mom's medications.

I grab the silver, sharp-edged paintbrush.

I grab my journel and start to tell my story..

By the time my parents got home..

Their son was too far gone.

Seventeen-year old boy
With oestrogen caught in his chest,
With flags that he wears like a crest,
Defining his torture with pink and blue stripes
Boy,
Hiding in plain sight

Sixteen year old "girl",
Asked what she wants for her birthday,
Lost for words, she has nothing to say
"On my birthday I want to not
Feel dysphoria" Replies filled with sighs and a nod
Girl,
Faking her smiles,
Pretending she's fine
When she hears the word "Girl"

Ten year old "boy",
He's sick of hearing the difference,
Sick of the snickers and whispers that call him
"Tomboy"
As if he's only half-trying
As if he doesn't hide, crying,
He doesn't know who he is,
But he's sick of criticisms
Because
He's not girly enough,
But not boyish enough,
And everyone insists, one day you'll grow up
And you'll be a real girl
A n d  
           I
Was, for a while,
I learned how to smile,
With genuine contentment, I thought
I am enough...

But then I grew up.

the feminine body, the feminine aura
was glorious. and she wanted to be glorious.
she could see it real in her mind's eye,
          feel it there in her body's soul.
the ***** of Her spine as She arches Her back
the curve of Her hips
the softness of Her touch...

          and men...
well, she never did see men as glorious.
          never could, it wasn't so.
there was a certain admiration, she supposed,
          one could hold
                    for their figure,
the magnificence of the human body.
but that gloriousness,
          the kind found in the tenderness of Her kiss,
                                      in the strength of Her self,
          that, they lacked.

so that's not why she envied them,
          but envy she did.
the way their clothes fit,
          the way they could move,
                    the way she could not.
they held convenience, she guessed.
she guessed.
          is that what she wanted?
          just a body so convenient?

the body of Woman
          still surely was not
          surely it was not
          surely not on her.
it was imperfect on her,
its beauty dimmed down.
a costume ill-fitted that she couldn't tear off.
and convenient masculinity
a disguise too well made,
an impression ill-suited that wouldn't wear off.

she was wrong, she was wrong!
          boy, girl, what?
was she wrong?
she wanted to be beautiful!
          it was Woman she admired.
she was not, they called her "boy"
          but of that role, she'd long tired.
help!
what happens if you never find a place to stick?
acutely aware
that nothing will ever fit
someone, please, make a box
          and shove her into it.