The deepest depths of our lungs
have been deprived of oxygen
for so long
that we cannot remember what is like
to breathe,
deeply and unhindered by
this binder
as the constriction threatens to
collapse the cavity of our chest.

Willingly, we trade our breath
for the exquisite, piercing pain
that we quickly come to associate with
peace of mind
and freedom
because it means the reflection of our silhouette
finally matches the physique our
dysphoria has been telling us
we should have had
our whole lives.

In time, this addiction festers and
we bind longer and more often as
our bodies grow weaker and
our minds more chaotic until,
despite the destruction,
we cannot bear to take them off
and face the truth
written in our curves.

The pain is at one with us now.
We endure, if only to be able to
run our hands longingly down
our flattened chests
as we wait, hoping that,
one day,
we will finally be able to learn
what it is like to
breathe again.

If I could be He,
I'd grin ear to ear.
I'd laugh with a new voice,
and sing with boisterous cheer.

If I could be He,
I'd dance the night away.
I'd twirl around a girl,
and ask her if she'd stay.

If I could be He,
I'd no longer have to bind.
I'd lay shirtless on the beach,
and leave bottled messages to find.

If I could be He,
which I might never be,
I'd be eternally happy.
And I'd finally be me.

a house is not a home
my home is with those who love me,
and you clearly don't
i am leaving;
i will miss you,
but not enough to come back.
you are nothing to me anymore,
as i am done with your lies

Its march 20th 5:30 in the morning
And i wake up to the sound of my overbearing self-deprecation
Ringing through the front of my frontal lobe
They grow louder and louder as i begin to look down at a body
I wish didn't belong to me
Soon but not soon enough i'll pry away my eyes and try not to cry
Over the size of my chest or my voice that’s two octaves too high
I’ll blink back the tears out of fear that somehow someone would see
I’ll simply shut my eyes tight and hope that I’ll vanish from the worlds sight

It’s march 20th 6:00 in the morning and my school alarm finally sounds
Under that blaring beat i begin to hear a voice softly speaking
Its careful cadence reminds me to remember my binder
The voice begins to grow louder and louder every second
It’s sound set on letting me know why i need to know what i can’t show,
Can’t say, and can’t
So I’ll suffer while I squeeze into the single thing sure
To ensure that all my efforts will mean something at end of the day
The voice quieting as I struggle to breathe deeply

Its march 20th 6:30 in the morning and my 2nd alarm starts ringing
I’m exhausted and the secondary alarms in my brain are bringing me
Boxes of commentary carefully sorted under the names of each insecurity
As i toss myself toward my phone to turn off my phone's alarm
I want to scream at the sounds of shouts in my head
I know deep in my heart that I soon have to part with the comfort of my bed,
Deal with the alarms in my head, and go
Even though all I want is to stay surrounded by the soft safety of this comforter

I get up to get dressed and as i look into my closet
Full of things I may not want to wear but I have to
my thoughts race to remind me that that plain black tee
I wore three days last week needs to be washed and even if
I was still clean people can see the curve of my chest and the rest I don’t want to be seen
So i’ll reach for that black button up and another thought reminds me
That the pattern doesn’t quite distract the eye enough to not need
A jacket today

i turn to check the time and feelings of fear fill my brain
And see it reads 5 minutes to 7 o'clock and i havent started the walk to the bus stop
In a rush ill grab that huge hoodie i know is two sizes too big
And yank it on in hopes that hides every part I wish to shed
Since they’re what sets off those daily alarms in my head
Then i’ll rush to the bus and hope the day will disarm my dysphoria
So the bells in my head stop sounding and shouting
Throughout the depths of my mind

A floral mat
Separates me from
The tile floor
I feel anxious despite the peace

The instructor speaks
My heart stops
Because I know
The chest binder can’t hold
Through another downward-facing dog

Heaviness
The weight on my chest
Excessive flesh
A distinctive sign
Separating me
From the other men in the room

my spine curves inward and outward like the horizon of a burial mound
if I stand up straight you might clock the little girl that's buried there

LGBT.
You may have never heard of this acronym before,
Or maybe you associate it with liberals, or Obama,
Or hippies.
LGBT stands for:
Lesbian:
I was approached by a straight man
At a gay bar, who asked me if
I wanted to 'have a good time'.
I told him no.
I could see something in his eyes
Flicker, and he asked me why
I told him I only liked women
In that regard
He stood up angrily,
And told me that I was an
Ugly dke anyway.

LGBT stands for
Gay:
I was holding hands with
My boyfriend while
We were walking in the park.
We watched an older woman
Walk up to us and say,
"You're going to hell."
I said, "I'll see you there,"
She glared at me before
Storming off in a rage,
mumbling, "Disgusting fg."
On her way.

LGBT stands for
Bisexual:
I came out to my family today.
My cousin said,
"You're just confused."
My father said,
"Don't you dare walk in
My house with a f*ggot."
My mother said,
"Pick a side."
My supposed "friends" said,
"You're just desperate and greedy."
I've been dating an amazing person
That I can never share if I want to
Stay on good terms with "family".

LGBT stands for
Transgender:
I binded my chest today
With Ace bandages even though
I know it's extremely unsafe
Because I didn't want to be
Seen as a girl again.
I finally cut my own hair
And when I told my mom why
She told me,
"Leave before your father gets home."
I am sleeping on my friend's couch tonight
Because my parents couldn't accept me
As their son.

You might associate the acronym LGBT
With liberals.
Liberals that don't use their religion as an
Excuse when they're really just scared.
Or Obama who said, "No one in America
Should be scared to walk down the street
Holding the hand of the person they love."
Or hippies who refuse to conform to
Heteronormativity, because it only matters
That you love, the who or when or where or why or
How
Doesn't matter nearly as much.
People are more than their secondary ***
Characteristics.
"Love thy neighbor as thyself", right?