Did you ever think we could've been twins? Not like born together. Not fused like the two sides of an oyster encapsulating a precious pearl. No, I mean like the two sides of a mirror. Perfect opposites. Equally opposite damaged from long days of staring and hoping, and laughing and crying. Begging for things to maybe resolve, maybe become clearer. Maybe disappear with the steam of the 2.AM shower in the pitch dark. Hiding imperfections so that maybe they won't exist. I want to look at us both without fear of what I might see.
I want to see the correct way of viewing things and not the enhanced wrongness of a backward reflection. If we are the same then tell me that from your side we are better. That from your side we are stronger. That....just maybe...from your side, I am right for once.

body, what aches in you?
from dismantling joints
to decaying flesh
the rot only I can see

mind, what plagues you?
from late night thoughts
to the words of others
as I try to escape it

body, what are you?
to deny the mind
and wreck havoc on identity
to break me again

mind, what say you?
follow into darkness
and float ways away now
to a better place for us

Now and then I catch a glimpse

Of a shadow or piece of a thing

Alive but terrifying to reminisce.

Now and then I sense

The presence of some being

Closing in on my ears and neck.

Now and then I feel a tap

On my shoulder or my head from the back.

Surrounded by too many

Always checking

Always wondering

Who's there?

Where did you go?

But to an audience that doesn’t know

I'm alert, though in isolation

and completely alone.

When you meet a person the first instinct is to know their name,
A proper noun to represent them as a whole,
A name can define you,
And make you a person, not just a being.
So when people ask my name, why is it that I am so pained to admit it?
The name I was given at birth,
my dear loving parent had picked out so carefully from all the rest,
why must it hurt so much to admit?
Why can't I appreciate my name?
Why don't It feel like it is my name?

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, you're weak, I can tell, so cry on your knees

"Such a pretty name" they say,
"It suits you so well" they say,
But it makes me sick to my stomach,
I just want to hurl those letters into oblivion,
A garbled mess from which I can reform who I am.
Reform my name.
And my father wonders why I wear thick jumpers in the summer,
My mother looks concerned when she sees my lack of breath,
From the construction of the 4 sports bras on my chest.
And from her lips slips that horrid name.
And it's like I can breathe even less.

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, you're weak, I can tell, so beg in your knees

My aunt wonders why I cut my pretty hair,
My grandad thinks it's weird that I won't wear a dress,
I don't get why "God" is angry when clearly it's just them,
I thought he taught us to love each other?
Does this rule not apply to me?
"A loving daughter" yeah right;
Just you wait and see.

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, disgusting, revolting, now spout me your plea.

My sister tries to be supportive but I can tell she doesn't get it,
My mother doesn't mention it,
My father hardly looks at me.
But they don't understand the joy I felt,
When I took that first injection.
My hormones set on fire,
My blood set a light,
And for once in my life-
My body started to feel right.

My name is dysphoria, you should answer to me, disgusting, revolting, a girl in boys clothing.

And yeah, my family might not use my new name,
But it's on my driver's license,
My passport,
My soul,
And finally I was excited to introduce myself to people.
Finally I was happy to exist,
I was happy to be me-
A boy at last.
With a real name: Rory.

I'm a concoction of emotions
digging my own grave

I back away from desired eyes
to avoid the shame and hurt
when my core's been exposed

Will this cycle of
remaining a prisoner 
of my own heart
ever come to an end

Perhaps I wasn't 
meant to be loved at all
but beautifully resilient 
on my own