There's too much of me
So I slice into parts
Don't know who I am
Who I was
Where to start
My fingertips stained
a raspberry color
Let's cut off another
Another
Another
My softness dismantled
Set the mood
light some candles
This hole inside grows
So I must learn to handle
Those times where my head was held under water
Men dont give a **** if "that's somebodys daughter"
When all that you've taught me is I should be better
I think of my past self and send em a letter
The version of me that was put under ground
Carving into myself cause I cant speak out loud
Skipping breakfast and dinner or stuffing our faces
For some sense of control
To hope it erases
The feeling inside
that all that you can be
Is how flesh meat and bone
Hangs off of your body
When your own heart could stop
From barely a flutter
Flesh of the womb
Laying wet in the gutter
Taking what's ours
They go on with their lives
Resorted to tonics and herbs
Backyards and midwives
He said it's not that bad
you ******* faker
Beat in her face
Just to text her phone later
All my exes are crazy
I just wanted to bang her
Cut her down from the rafters
when you know what hanged her
It's funny it's sad
at the end of the day
We're in hell together
Across hot coals we lay
Dress your own wounds
Don't bend over for them
Instead let's
Redacted
Redacted
Redacted

I am woman
But I am not
Where there should be flower
there's **** and rot
I should be girl
So that you can nut
I should serve you ***** but never ****
I should be smaller
I shouldn't be louder
I should nibble and never devour
I should be young
I should do that forever
I should be stupid so you can be clever
I should *******
But I should be pure
I shouldn't **** him though
that makes me a *****
I should be bald from the neck down
I shouldn't call you when I break down
I should be nice
I should be meek
I shouldn't cry and I shouldn't leak
I shouldn't scream
I shouldn't hiss
I should not explain why I still flinch
I should whisper
I shouldn't joke
Like every girl I should like being choked
I should be by design
I should be like a doll
I should know how to curl up in a ball

My whole life
I felt so much shame in my whole being
like I was born wrong
that everything about me was so wrong
because I was born into a family
where I never recieved love attachment or true joy
where I was always picked on bullied and harrassed by
pretty much everyone in my life.
Where everytime I felt my dysphoria
I felt wrong
Iike it was wrong to feel like a girl
but wanna be a boy at times ...
but now that I am healing myself
I see that there is nothing wrong with who I am
that I am beautifully made
and that I am just different in my own way
and that is beautiful ,
I am a person who thinks for myself
who has always questioned it all
and that's why I was able to leave a super opressive religion
and hometown.
It's been my saving grace.
Someone who is super creative
who has a super big heart and soul
who feels so many many things
so when others even in a well intended way
try to tell me that I am non binary or something like that
or queer,
the labels don't feel like they  fit me,
because I am who I am
and I don't like labels,

I am learning to not  judge myself
but to just accept myself,

that I have a right to exist
to live a good beautiful life
of my own choosing
to learn that I am powerful by just being me
by just existing,
and that there was never anything wrong with me
I AM Who I AM.

More and more colours join the flag
until the whole spectrum shines like a sun
a beacon
on the troubled journey

It's just a flag
nonviolent communication
in the wind
a silent look

The pole a magic wand
a seeress, beacon
of patience
made of the right stuff

Oak and elder, willow, fig and fir
the trees of Mother Earth
beech and birch, cedar, cypress
so many more than elm and ash

A healing staff
with a robe to wear
in the colours of our soul
all colours of light

a girl in her teens
promised the world
the biggest of dreams
she'd build a skyscraper
farthest from ground
her name in each paper
fills all ears a buzzing sound

but she was just a girl in her teens

in a world that  knows no promises
and owes no one their dreams
the tallest of skyscrapers are already built

by a man born farthest the ground
who owns the papers
who makes all sounds

Not knowing if we would have worked out had I stayed in London.
Not knowing if you think about me as much as I think about you.
Not knowing if you ever thought about me all those days apart.
Not knowing if you had also wanted to kiss me that afternoon.
Not knowing if we would be together had I been born a boy.
Not knowing if it is me or my gender that is putting you off.
Not knowing if I will ever get to hold your hand.
Not knowing if I will ever get to kiss you.
Not knowing if I will ever see you again.
Not knowing if I will ever be with you.
Not knowing if I will ever be myself.
Not knowing if I will ever be you.

Pink is a pretty color,
But it might not mean what you think.
See, it's just an optical phenomenon.
It's not there when you blink.

There is no meaning other
Than the socially implied.
So stop your silly monologues
And keep your thoughts inside.

White's a privilege,
a responsibility, an advantage,

(topped-up by a Y chromosome for some)

which can't be worn lightly.

Let’s not kid ourselves -
despite the painted ceilings
the flaky teachings
- God is not a white man
God doesn't carry chromosomes
or gender-bearing genitalia.

God designed all of that paraphernalia
for us to enjoy, out of a love of diversity
out of a mischievous plan for human sexuality
out of a need to be reflected in more than one gender
because one was not strong enough to fully bear
to accurately render God's image alone.

Be clear, being white is a privilege,
a responsibility, an advantage
placed on our shoulders by successive generations
who denied,
pushed down,
held back
and placed into submission
the rest of God's rich palate of humankind.

God is not a white man -
No, they agreed upon the olive skin
of a chosen, a select people
and wore that dark complexion with pride.

So put aside that ancient lie.
God is not some white guy.

God is translucent.

Tearing through my skin,
Always picking fights

Trying to acknowledge
whether what's wrong
and what's right

The discomfort and the questioning
"I am not me"

Bound and strapped,
to who I'm 'supposed' to be