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Sidney Chelle Nov 2018
it was never the big boy parts i wanted.
it was their soft details.
i wanted my arms to be more fuzzy, with wisps gleaming golden and straw in sun.
i wanted my shoulders to be broad, unbroken, and busy. i wanted to carry weight and spin girls dizzy.
i wanted a back, straight, always pointing north. i wanted angles and shores, i wanted fuzz and more.
i toothbrushed my face every night, suds glistening, mind listening, waiting for days where i had something to clean,
when it would feel just right.
i told myself i wouldn't let it be me, i pressed into seams and skirt's flow and i acted like i didn't know how it hurt.
i wanted dropped sounds and fewer mounds, i wanted free of feminine ecstasy. i wanted golf rounds and the sounds of a daughter looking at me
and saying daddy.
i pushed my fears into my pants, i held onto cramps and crowns, focusing so that i could be less man and less frowns. i packed and bound and wondered if i was right.
if i really was Eli at night.
so i'm sailing these seas of hormones and bliss, i'm sealing my soul with every kiss, and i'm looking at our horizons.
and i'm wondering if there is a me out there.
Grey Oct 2018
If you count the cracks
I will open my mouth for you
The injury
The injury,
falsely gaping
it doesn't fit and you count again
Look at my fingers
****** the edges
Feel the curves
How wrong can it be?
You press a hand to what's wrong
You hold my problems
Apples and Oranges
What if neither was real?
The inside is flesh
It yields
It yields
But if I do not ask you to count
my mouth will never have a use
Swallow my tongue for me
You put me in a place, but it isn't mine
Whose body is this?
Zeleyha Mata Aug 2018
The boy who dances
The girl who kissed
The man who romances
The woman who stood tall
The father who promises
The mother who knew all
And I, peering at my reflection
And all of them
Staring back at me,
Through a blur of tears
With eyes that shine behind her mask
They cry
Even though I love them
They cry
A chorus of heartbreak through muffled mouths
They cry
Because for one to shine means another must hide
And only she will be loved
and only she will be loved
and only she...
The boy who shatters
The girl who fears
The man who screams
The woman who whispers
The father who bleeds
The mother who drowns
And I, the one who is loved in pieces.
A poem about the masks that I wear for society.
Harri Jul 2018
I am a woman.
Or so I'm told.
But how can I be a woman,
When the me in the mirror
Doesn't match the me in my head,
Because I just can't comprehend
Seeing ****?
When I want to peel my skin off
Because it itches at the seams,
Of the stitched in expectations
Of my ***?
When the people all around me
Laugh and say “it's natural”
When I dare to express my discomfort,
And it seems I'm the only one
Who struggles with the day to day
Of existing as a “miss”,
And my name doesn't fit unless it's shortened?
So I strap down my chest
So you can't see it.
But still my face screams woman,
And my voice
And my hips
And that ever ******,
Mother ******* “MISS”.
I know my **** are still there,
Their discomfort physical now,
Not just a mental ache.
And every month I bleed,
And it's like my body's betraying me.
But the whole world says that's just the way it is.

I'm tired of the way it is.
I'm tired of your boxes.
I climb out of one
To be kicked into another,
Not a woman, fine.
So I must want to be a man?
I must want to join the ranks
Of the people that have disgusted me,
Debased me
And repulsed me?
Of the people making sport
Of the gender I have lived with?
No.
No.
I won't live with a gender,
With your ******* expectations,
Or your games
Or your ****** little boxes.
Pink,
Or blue?
I LIKE ******* BOTH.
I want hairy legs,
But not a hairy chest.
I don't want ****,
But I don't want a ***** either.
I want long hair,
Without assumptions I'm a girl.

I want to exist outside society.
It's broken.
Haylin May 2018
I'm a girl
But somedays
I'm a boy
ConnectHook Apr 2018
Why the **** would you want to change
if God thus made you (like Genesis)?
A notion so bizarre, so strange,
it begs some armchair analysis.
Such madness, yours. To rearrange . . .
thus we all learn what hubris is.
But on you babble, obscuring gender
(quite the conversation-ender).
Father means a man
and Mother means a woman
(there’s no other plan)
Em or Finn Mar 2018
End
I feel trapped
Like I can't reach
The peak of who I am
Of who I'm meant to be

Everything becomes an obstacle
My hair
My voice
How I dress

They stop me
Stop me from being perceived
As the gender I feel
The gender I am

If gender dysphoria was a weapon
I would've been shot down long ago
With my brothers, sisters, and siblings
Who died from the never-ending torture

All I want is my name
All I want is for others to use my pronouns
But that's too far away
So I'm waiting for the torture to finally

End me
Dani Dec 2017
Not quite white
Not quite latino
Not quite anything

Too dark to be white
Too light to be latino
Too mixed to be anything

Not quite that language
Not quite that accent
Not quite anything

Too feminine for this
Too masculine for that
Too mixed to be anything

Not quite this thing
Not quite that thing
Not quite anything
ConnectHook Dec 2017
❣ = ❣ = ❣

HE am not it
HERS + HIS = HERES
WE am SHE but pronoun are sexist
THEY is ZHEY
SHE + HE = ZHE
SHE + IT = ****
HE + roomfull of SHEs = they (not sexist)

**Down with all gender-based languages !
Gender-based grammar is inherently sexist and oppressive.
Grammar itself is a hateful, rigid, and often overtly racist construct.
It is little more than an imposed control system which attempts to assign roles and reinforce identities that facilitate social regimentation.  Such patriarchal and occidental euro-supremacist control must be resisted, even at the socio-linguistic level of grammar itself. Traditional family structure reinforces and justifies this linguistic oppression, and is to be forced to adapt or rendered obsolete. "Fathers" and "Mothers" must yield to  "others".

Useless vestiges of the fascistic Roman tongue such as Italian, Spanish, French, Portuguese, and Romanian, along with all associated Romance-derived dialects must adapt and evolve toward current progressive understandings of gender-fluid reality -- or be abandoned.

As a global and genderfluid re-evaluation of rigid and outmoded languages develops, humanity will make significant strides toward collective empowerment, both lexical and ******. Desire will be freed from patriarchal norms and find itself free to cathect onto the object of its enlightened choice.  False and patriarchal notions of singular/plural will no longer be inflicted on unrestrained multiplicities of being. We won't need no more significators to point out a practices that mean a nothings man out the reified racists of language herself as pronouned "other".  Boo boo hate she up the mandingo adder abbot shahooligalistaaphany.
Urgh urgh I are free! Bort grammar break ump ump humpty daffodil.
It am not significate ourselves into oblivion.
parttimeboy Nov 2017
I wake up, sweating
I dreamt about it again
My parents finding out.

It's World War 2.
My mom is driving down the road behind me,
Chasing me.
She is driving a ****'s car.
I'm running down a way so many people before me ran down
They, too, shared my or a similar secret

But I see contact mines in front of my feet, everywhere
My mom smiles and waves, makes a horrible face
I smile and wave back, feeling more and more dead
Than alive

I know this dream
I'm supposed to end up with the girl at the end
It's supposed to have a nice end
But it doesn't

Because I wake up, sweating
I dreamt about it again
My parents finding out.
This poem is based on one of my nightmares about coming out to my parents that I've had this night. Since coming to terms with being bisexual, I've had dreams like these often, but until now, they were all different. So I might document them like this whenever I have them - the **** part was probably influenced by a talk I went to yesterday evening, a talk by a 87-year-old survivor who was forgotten during one of the death marchs in 1945 when she was one year younger than I  am now.
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