it’s 2pm PST
my PTSD is eating me
ring finger on control key
my poor and lonely body

My mirror looks back at me.

Sometimes I ignore it
Other times I stare

Green eyes are all I see.

I tap the glass
Only to fall in
For eternity

Slipping through

R

         e
  
              A
                  
                   L
                      
                      i

                      T

                    y

I tap the glass again
There’s someone else
Not me?

‘To be or not to be’

The question unanswered

Eventually my stare falters
Thrown off by fears

My face remains a mystery

My body warping as
A light flickers
—————————-
I tap once more
The glass
shatters.

A million knives in skin that doesn’t feel like mine

Smiling through the pain
It’s a flaw in my design

For when I’m bleeding
I forget the warped image in the mirror

Instead I feel free
I disappear
So happily.

Every ma'am
Is the tightening of a noose
Is the sharpening of a blade

Every shower
Is the collection of pills growing
Is the note being revised

Every she
is a punch in the throat
Is one step closer

One step closer to the end
Because I cant wait to not feel this



But then I get called sir
I get called them
I get called him
And it's one step back from the rope
One pill flushed
One note ripped up
One more day I will stay alive
Because I love that feeling

To transition is to attend your own funeral time and time again in hopes of allowing yourself the delicacy of being truly known
Identity becomes a public affair and day to day life reads like a eulogy
Imagine you are the corpse, the coffin, and the church your body rests in
You haven't lost yourself just, killed that version and put her inside a box for only her dearly beloved to see
You now become the house in which they’re prepping her body for eternal sleep
You are the final destination
The one stop shop for little girls who become boys overnight
I became him over night and the next morning i wrote her eulogy
Its been almost five years since girl became boy and i am still giving her eulogy
I am speaking of a little girl to people that only know the grown man she died to be and i am so incredibly tired of doing so
I see family and the remnants of the little girl i was believed to be and i am forced to take part in their mourning
Every day feels like the day after you lose someone you loved
There are bits and pieces of her around my house, and my mind, and even my body but she is gone
She has been gone for almost five years and i am still attending her funeral
There is no longer a corpse, coffin, and church just a man her memories rest in
I am the man her memories rest in yet i put her to rest long ago
I need the world to do the same, for my dearly beloved to do the same
For we are gathered here today not to mourn the loss of a daughter, a sister, or niece
We are here to celebrate the gaining of a son, a brother, and a nephew
I am celebrating the birth of me and giving her eulogy in the same breath and i am tired of doing so
See i am left carrying the grief of a person who still exists
I exist
Changed but still present, still breathing
There never was a corpse, a coffin, or a church
There was only ever me, my body, and the world around me

When I look in the mirror I see
roses. Stark and stubborn.
Bursting from the cracks
in skin too plain
to do them justice.

When I look in the mirror I see
thorns. Threatening to break through the façade
so carefully contorted to fit
that cookie-cutter idealization
of a pre-packaged identity.

When I look in the mirror I see
monochrome; like the eyes of the beholder
who twisted my covert dissatisfaction into something--
maybe not beautiful, but at least
accepted, yes; eyes that couldn't behold
when I had my own ideations; couldn't accept
that underneath that soft, dull skin,
there were thorns.

There are thorns
and there are roses, too, when I look in the mirror--
they are engulfing my reflection;
transforming my figure into one that is unrecognizable
to those discerning eyes--

but not to mine,
these fiery red eyes of the beholder
which finally recognize beauty
worthy of love.