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caz Feb 24
the human race:

divided between male, female, neither

yet why do i not identify as either?

instead i am a combination of all,




the sight of myself in my mirror makes me want to puke.




undeniably, irrevocably,


"you're so pretty!"

the thought makes my skin crawl.

she, her, hers,

never fit me at all.

maybe i could be male,

yet that does not feel right either.

he, him, his,

makes the skin on my bones fit a little bit better.

maybe i could be neither?

yet that still does not feel quite right.

they, them, theirs,

about as fitting as an overgrown sweater.

i identify with all of them,

but all at different times.

makes me feel better,

knowing that i'm not a new find.
wrote this on a particularly dysphoric day. hope you enjoy it! :)
cesario Feb 2020
im dysphoric.
really really ******* badly dysphoric.
i dont have you here to hold me the way you held me,
and tell me all those warm reassuring words of comfort,
reassuring my masculinity,
and telling me just how much you love me,
and how much you cant wait till im your husband,
and how ill always be a man
and your man.

i miss how you told me my body was that of a roman statue,
how i was masculine and dominating,
how even my smell was that of a man,
and how my stature screamed nothing but ‘man’ and your ‘man’.

and now i have to sit alone,
wallowing in pain,
crying till all dysphoria is gone,
alone with no arms to cry in,
and no chest to lie my head on.

i have to face my worst pain alone.
with no words of warmth,
or comfort,
or reassurance,
to reassure my masculinity
and my worth.

i just want to ******* disappear,
or get taken back to august.
under the chinese arch,
when you held me in your arms.
even when i was crying you made me feel the most masculine,
and most strongest.

and right now i feel the most feminine,
and the most weakest,
without you.
more of a poetic vent than a poem.
Casey May 2019
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.
This is a more simplistic way of writing that I don't really do that much but it's fun. I'm afraid that I'll be stuck as "she" my whole life and honestly, that's a terrifying thought. But I know that one day I'll finally be myself. One day. I'm holding out for that.
Gray Mar 2019
i always wanted to be a fairy;
to be small,
and free
to be able to fly,
soar through the clouds,
and touch the sun

i longed to be a vampire
so i could be beautifully pale,
survive on liquid alone,
and be asleep all day

i wished to be a zombie
so i didn’t have to eat,
so i could see my ribs,
and just rest in peace

i prayed to be a witch,
or a warlock;
make people see me for me,
and see me as a boy

i just want it all to get better
a wish list for the future, and a letter from the past
Noah Dec 2018
You scream THEM
You shout it from the rooftops
Bellowing until you throat cracks
But they hear SHE
'She' they say with sweet smiles
You continue your shouts
Begging them to understand
THEM you wail
Your voice breaks as you sink to the ground
They lay a comforting hand on your shoulder
Then whisper in your ear with breath like a poisonous flower
King Dec 2018
The fear of your own flesh
The skin that cages you helplessly
As a fish frozen inside a lake
Banished from the sunsets lovely

Cold, stagnant and painful
The knowing your body is raw
Sorrow one could only feel in dreams
Just as fearful as knowing it’s wrong

Skin caging us so tightly, like
The potatoes your aunt used to peel
Sitting in your grandmas chair
The memories of when you were better

A child riding a half broken bike
Figuring out how to get the jelly jar to seal
Putting up and braiding long hair
Writing important Christmas letters

Now all that fills you is worry
Your family cant understand the
Skin they gave you isnt fitting
And all you can explain is because

Because it’s how you grew up
Because it’s how you’ve become
Because your head was never ******* on right
And now you fear being alone

Now all that you are is someone
Your family doesn’t know but I swear
As you explore on your own
You find people who love and care

They love and care and hold you
Peeling potatoes of their own
And together you watch the sunset
As you explore you wont ever be alone
blaise Jun 2017
hi! my name is DEADNAME
i hear it resonate through my dysphoria, i recoil from my body. i desperately want to hold a match stick up to my birth certificate and watch every letter blacken into ash, when i grow up to be a tombstone i want you to burn me too. ignite all the dresses i wore to church.

my name is WOMAN and
no matter how many times i insist that it is not, i will be categorized with a quaking punch in my stomach and i will throw up SHE. no matter how many times i jam this hoodie into a washing machine it will reek of MISS. i am cloaked with words of caution to the public (WARNING: PROBABLY JUST A PHASE) in attempts to subdue the truth because if it unraveled i would be myself, and myself will shatter minds and destroy virtue because my psyche is a crime scene, my humanity is a dangerous opinion, and my identity is a car crash. it is a siren wailing magenta; it wraps around my chest like police tape- i wish i could use it as a binder. those knuckles feel infinitely more therapeutic than the aftershock of FEMALE. i would much rather be bruised and downtrodden and battered and beaten from every centimeter of my body than to submit to the declarations of GIRL. i want you to punch me again please punch me again please punch me again please punch me again please punch me again please

my name is DELUSIONAL and
i heal paper cuts with bow ties because it’s as close as i can get to a suit when me and my wardrobe are confined within the same nine square feet of wooden floor. i still come close to weeping when i get my flu shot, but fill that syringe with testosterone and by god you can slay me like a beast, skewer that needle through my skin like a katana and i will embrace it. i will live for the torment, pretty hurts and, by god, i am a *******, to mask the sting by god i will sing like a gospel, a gospel who gets called handsome by strangers and owns a voice deep as a ******* ravine.

my name is SNOWFLAKE and
i hope i give you hypothermia, *******.

my name is YOUNG LADY and
while filling out my passport application i flooded the box with an M beside it with ink and never told my mother and i smiled to myself for the first time that week and i still don’t regret it, i will never regret it because no matter how many times i hear edicts of DAUGHTER she can never take that precious M away from me.

my name is SINNER and
i am a disgrace to faith. a mutant, a freak, an abomination, a monstrosity, not a man- just a girl who aspires to mutilate herself into an excuse for one. i am a shapeshifting sorcerer, you see LESS THAN HUMAN. little do you know i am a ******* DEMIGOD and i may be the owner of weeping willow twigs for arms and i may be left on the brink of passing out when i climb up the stairs but i will grip you by the collar of your shirt and haul you into hell with me on the other side of this mirror, by god.

my name is BLAISE.
i found this out at age eleven. i deciphered myself at age eleven. it’s just one syllable. it is a firecracker mistaken for a gunshot and i will leave cisnormativity riddled with bullets and the pistol’s name will be BLAISE. a kid from middle school will run into me on the street and tell me they can’t quite remember what my name is and i’ll shamelessly rewrite history and remind them, it’s BLAISE; a lady at starbucks will ask what to write on my cup and i will say BLAISE and she’ll spell it 'blaze', but i don't give a ****, it’s good enough, i will scream my revelation from my fire escape at four in the morning in triumph MY NAME IS BLAISE and someone will yell back from their car HEY BLAISE, SHUT THE **** UP and i’ll take it as a tribute, BLAISE is a MAN and HE sliced his body open and poured ecstasy inside when a cashier called him SIR that one time at walgreens. BLAISE is yet another piece of proof that the assignment received by some ****** in a lab coat doesn’t have to be a prison and you don’t fully understand these boxes we’re crammed in until you break them yourself. BLAISE'S individuality is authentic, HIS love is authentic, HIS reflection in the mirror is authentic, and its name is BLAISE. BLAISE found out the life expectancy of a transgender person is around thirty-two years old and you better believe that BLAISE will live to be thirty-three and HE will give a little bit of hope to trans youth who don’t even think they’ll be able to wake up to sixteen and HE will give a big ol’ ******* to everyone who doesn’t think HE deserves to breathe in their world for that long, by god, you better believe that BLAISE will live to be thirty-three, you better believe that BLAISE will make it to thirty-three, you better believe that HE will make it to thirty-three, you better believe that I will make it to thirty-three.
It can happen any place any time.
The feeling of you not being who you are or what you want.
The iron grip in your chest telling you that you are wrong.
The darkness in your heart telling you that this is not what you are.
Feeling that you are a girl when you are meant to be a guy.
Feeling like a guy when you are meant to be a girl.
Feeling like you will never get to the point of being who you want to be.
Feeling alone in the battle of this of identity  and your soul.
Alone you feel and nothing can fix it.
But it will slowly go away in time.
Leaving you woth little confidence and power to make it through the day.
Gender Dysphoria happenes to a lot of people. Not just transgender people. But gender fluid and gender queer. And a whole lot more people out there.
Before me stands a 'mirror',
Before my eyes open,
You tell me to prepare myself,
For I am about to see my reflection-
A live image of myself.
So I open my eyes.
And I scream.
And I run.
For what I see is not who I am.
Francie Lynch Mar 2016
A male child born, ***-wise,
His mind not made-up,
Not by a long shot.
He needs time to grow,
For now he could dress
Like Oscar Wilde,
Anyway's good for this child.
At six he follows
Male role models,
So confused.
Dysphoria soon insists,
Sets in to ambiguity,
Leading him to his feminine side,
Where her gender surely resides.
*** = genitalia
Gender = mind set
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