It's the voice in the back of your head
It's the feeling of yourself in the shower
It's the clothes that line your curves to well
It's the stare of all those around you

It's the screaming of the wind
It's the force if the tornado
It's the hail from the cold skies
It's the wave of the tsunami
It's everything crashing down on you at once

It is hell's demons here to plague you personally

I FEEL THE FURIES DESCEND -
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO SAVAGE A PILE OF MEAT AND MUSCLE
THE STENCH OF IT, O GOD
O GLORY SCREAMING, WHY
RAGING AGAINST SOME BROKEN
DYING THING:
PEEL THE SKIN FLAKING FROM MY BACK,
WEAR IT AS A TROPHY
FASHION MY SKULL INTO A SICKLY CROWN
YOU DESERVE THIS THRONE! YOU
REALLY REALLY DO!
HOW LONG DOES IT TAKE TO DIE
FROM SELF HATRED
PUTRID FIRE AND MALEVOLENCE
REMINISCING LIKE OLD FRIENDS, AND
MY FINGERS LYING AT THEIR FEET
I WAS NEVER ALIVE! NOT IN THE
RIGHT WAY, AT LEAST, SING
SONGS OF MY COURAGE
SACRAMENT AND DUST SENT OUT TO SEA
ON A FLAMING BOAT
NOTHING BUT A SHATTERED URN AND A
DECK OF CARDS
AND A SUICIDE NOTE THAT SAYS SORRY,
WRONG NUMBER
THIS ISNT - THAT IS TO SAY, IM NOT -
I CANT BREATHE, NOT WHILE
EAGLES SWALLOW MY LUNGS, A FLY SWARM
TURNED HOLY SCREAMING
REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT! REPENT!

'A profound state of unease or dissatisfaction.'

I can understand that.
I ache.
My body twitches with the unseen tremors
     of muscles that were never there.

And sometimes my fingers and skin
fool me -
     wrinkles fade into existence
     as my body is at once
     too large and too small for
     the galaxies burning within.

Being transgender is like this:
Everyday of your life, you have always wanted a dog.
For as long as you can remember--
even if you don't know to what extent--
you have wanted one.

You asked your parents, Santa, the easter bunny,
even the tooth fairy.
Then one day you get a dead cat for your birthday.
You say "This isn't a dog,"
But "You get what you get and don't get upset"
So you carry around and care for the dead carcass.

All sorts of people look at you,
unable to understand what you are doing.
So then one day you decide to try to make it look a bit nicer.
You wash it a bit, comb what little fur it has left,
cover the decrepit limbs.

But then you realize the futility in doing this all the time,
because you are still carrying around a dead animal.
So you continue to carry it around because you have to,
no matter how horrible it may be.

Although you are carrying around a dead and rotting cat,
you aren't a ******* cat owner;

You still want a ******* dog.

Wandering the store,
The womens section is a far off shore,
Its drains me of my sanity,
I become what should not be,
in madness I begin to dwell.
In a personal nightmare and hell,
I begin to smile and giggle,
Thinking of the blood beginning to trickle,
I laugh and bend double,
Thinking of all my trouble,
But where do I put this pain of mine?
I run but it stays by my side.
I wanna cut again,
Put a bullet in my head and be gone,
But I'm told that's wrong,
So I listen to my favourite song,
I **** myself in my mind but not body,
And tell everyone I'm sorry.
walking around,
Chasing her about the shop,
Start to run aground,
I look and stop.
Womens clothes it hurts my heart,
Oh no, oh no no, oh no no!
Just go next door, don't make me start,
Just go to poundland, please just GO!
£20 sale shorts,
Ugly, nothing to her,
Running back and forth, I'm not much for sports,
Oh my this is causing a stir.
I try to relax, chill with my shades,
I just go numb,
Two days later it all just fades,
I curl fingers under thumb,
I clench my jaw,
Put my back in,
It aint ice cuz it don't thaw,
Don't blame me but anger is my sin.
Fall from grace,
Bleed the hate out,
Brush the glass from my face,
Scream and shout.
My mirror is broken,
My heart is sore,
Its toll has been taken,
That much I swore.

Dysphoria is like having to *****.
You're sitting there, weak and trembling;
every movement becomes twisted into a bout of nausea.
You're pale and helpless; held captive by your sickness

Every fiber of your body aches to oust the illness
A vile purgation, stinging and hot against your throat
Waves and waves of sickness pouring out of your body
Until finally, feeble and wavering, you stand.

And the color begins to come back to your face.
A relief of all the gross and disgusting feelings
Allowing you to lay down again and rest
Without your head swimming with blight.

But that is not dysphoria.
There is no purge
There is no relief.
You are hit again and again with this nausea

No hope for an end
With every breath, your stomach churns
With every movement, your body shakes
Your eyes are closed and you bite your lip;
Any action can only serve to entice the disease.

No medication could ever relieve such a force
Of this malady, this fever, this ailment.
Nothing can calm the tides of dysphoria.

Envy is not green but
something perhaps a little more sickening to me
than chartreuse and a spoiled ego.
Envy is when i see boys walking by,
looking down at myself again, i see my curves
and i hate them.

i don’t want them.
i want to look like the boys.

Envy is seeing other girls more androgynous
than i;
girls with broader shoulders
and with more angular faces.

why can’t I look like that?

i hear voices deeper than mine:
tenor, baritone—
and I shred my throat
day-by-day,
trying to come close to the pitch.

Envy is the aches in my body when changing
my posture from legs to shoulders;
from changing my stride
and preventing my hips from swaying.
i want to look like them.

seeing these people makes my insides feel
like they’re being twisted with a red-hot fork;
and it hurts, oh God, it hurts.
it hurts to know i will never look
like how i see myself.

I am not an "it",
Not a "what" but a "who".
You look but you don't see me.
I am here, so where are you?

Ev'ry time you call me "girl"
It stabs me in the heart,
You twist the knife with "daughter"
And refuse to play your part.

I wonder, if I died tomorrow
What would my fun'ral be?
Into the earth I'd wear a dress
And bare a mask of "she".

My body is my strangled tomb
And, you, my epitaph:
"Here lies a sister, daughter, friend."
But I lie split in half.

Ev'ry time you call me "daughter",
Ev'ry time you call me "she"
Holds a venomous reception
In the darkest parts of me.

You say that it gets better.
Just a phase and nothing more.
I don't know how you can say that
With my heart spilt on the floor.

Walk o'er my bones in high-heeled shoes,
Kiss my pale skin with blood,
You ***** me with names of she
And wash me in pink mud.

I'm smothered with assumptions
And I'm drowned in prejudice,
A balloon fills up inside me
With ev'ry uttered word of "miss".

So if you wish to watch me die,
Melt away and o'er again,
Then tie me to the threads of girls
And taunt me with ropes of men.