my body is a house
but
someone else lives there

my body is a house
but it's not mine
i'm just visiting

I feel like Pinocchio
made of wood,  held up by strings,
hoping to be a real boy
but never reaching my goal.
Wishing for my own fairy godmother.
To be saved from the whale inside of me.
This darkness in my soul
Devouring every good thought.
And every speck of light.
I have water filling up my lungs now.
No land in sight
I am driftwood,
Floating in the sea
I strain to see past the darkness
Still wishing my impossible wish
Hoping to be a real boy.

My skin doesn't feel right
it doesn't feel right to breathe.
It doesn't feel right to wear a dress.
It doesn't feel right what in the mirror, I see.
This body doesn't belong to me.
These lips are not mine.
The luscious hair I cut off, still not mine.
My grandmother calls me two-spirit.
I call myself an error.
Because you see,
I am a boy.
Stuck in a girl's body.

We transgenders are not *****,
nor *******.
We transgenders are not tools,
nor autistic or *******.
It is not funny to spit at us.
Or stick notes on our back.
It is not funny to misgender us,
or harass and assault.
It is like we are a fish out of water.
Watching everyone swim.
As we suffocate and die.
See, we transgenders are just like you.
And you see,
We all speak it.
The truth.

Under my skin are blood and veins and bones

That is what is under skin but what people don’t know is that i hide under this skin you gave me  

under labels that we placed  upon this face and clothes i wear you seem uncomfortable with me

so i try to ware the thing that you seem to care for but all i get back is how and were and who is

this person i try to be for you  it seems worthless sometimes but it makes you happy and i dont

know what would happen if i told the truth so i hide under this skin that is not mine but you seem

To care for it and love it so i were this skin suit for you so maybe you'll care  for me they way i

Care for you

Grab your supplies,
two needles, six alcohol pads and
the Wonder Woman bandaids you bought
to feel brave.
Remind yourself to buy a box for mom
next time you supermarket shop.

Curse under your breath,
its left thigh week and
you know the left thigh really hates T
Message your group chat,
Ask them to pump you up
so you can ignore needle induced palpitations—
are my ribs caging my heart or protecting it?
Refocus yourself; now is not the time
for existential thoughts

Fill the syringe with the eighteen gauge,
and then drop that sucker into
the ancient bottle of vanilla coke
filled with used needles.
Change to the twenty-five gauge,
refresh your music page.
Is it a Queen or All Time Low shot day?

Wipe your leg down,
not once, not thrice,
but five times—
As you stare between the needle,
your thigh, your needle, and again
the thigh.
Count to three,
One,
Two,
Three,
and in it goes,
not so bad—it never is.

Repeat every Sunday.

i feel broken in my
own bones
i want to get out of my skin
i want to change the unchangeable

my chest
my voice
my face
my everything feels wrong

I feel like crawling out
of my skin
ripping my chest off
and running away from my body

i just want it gone
just let this pain end

Dysphoria, it wraps and weaves but plunges me like a knife,
Dysphoria, it's like a big useless chest binder that tightens around your self-esteem.
Dysphoria, It is my best friend, but I smile in joy when it briefly leaves.
Dysphoria, My thighs, my chest, my hair, my jaw, my eyes and my smile write 'Her' 'She' 'Female' Girl'.

                                  Dysphoria, I'm always alone.