If I were before the judgement seat of God, this is what I would say:

"The conception of my kid,
at the time that it did,
was not intended,
but I'm glad that it did."

where is the support group
for Trans Masc kids
with bad fathers
alcoholic fathers

ones that didn't show up
and still try to tell you
what a man is
and isn't
and by God it isn't you

a Father with misogyny
ran so deep
that my body is
a beautiful woman's
and God made me
to be this way

Born into the beautiful body of a woman

where is the support group
for fathers who are so damaged
dating girls within 5 years of me

i've never felt safe around a man
even the one who is half of me

maybe why i don't feel safe around myself

where is the support group
for Trans kids
that are 27
who always wanted to be like their dad
until they got to know him

who found the masculine beauty
within their best friend
who picked them up
every other weekend

and now
who can't even stomach
to muster
that that is my father.

the guilt
of a kid who just wished one of us
would die

ENOUGH ENOUGH OF IT ALL ALREADY!!!!

can you please stop traumatizing me
its been 20 years
haven't you had enough?
where is all of this material coming from?
is this a never ending bit and i simply just don't get the joke?

past the boroughs
and the busy streets.
the suburban lifestyle
he screams of defeat.

past the sorrows,
and away from concrete
the drops of rain (like his eyes)
followed from the backseat.

in the foliage
at the farmer's street
an apple, blueberries, a cart!
he jumped to his feet.

in the solace
through the plants of wheat
the first rays of sun
he slowly felt complete.

from thrashing limbs
to resting knees,
for sanity's sake
all it took
was a change of scenes.

I wrote a poem long ago
As an assignment for class
It was the first I was proud of
That feeling didn't last
It captured something
That rarely I'd place
An ever-present
Mask on my face
It was written there
Now lost forever
A truth I knew
Would bring me no pleasure
Titled "Masquerade"
I thought that was clever
Even used three words
To put rhyme to those letters
It was whole and it was tragic
Though I wrote it stone-faced
Turned it in, to the teacher
With no smile or grace
That page was Rumplestiltskin
Its lines gave form
To thoughts never shared
Within my brain's storm
The poem was an answer
From the hand that wrote it
To a baffled 12-year-old
Who couldn't control it
She gave it back to me
Along with an A
That I stuffed in my pack
And lost the same day

Just lay beneath the stars with me

Pretending that we're kids again

Still dreaming big dreams

Still stealing kisses

Living back in the before time

When we hadn't yet learned

That some people are like matches

And if you hold on too long

You get burned.

Being the eldest son is tough.
You always bear the toughest blows
From punishments and such.
Parents blame you for everything
But thirteen years of it?
God.. That's just too much.

Sure, my sibling is cute,
Smart, and headstrong too,
But they're just such a pain sometimes.
If there's anything to remember,
It's that they're a selfish, stuck-up brat
To the point it should be a crime.

My sibling has ruined my life.
If only I just lived alone.
That would honestly be great...
I wouldn't have to deal with them
Or hear another one of their whines
While they look at me with hate.

I'd have my parents all to myself.
I'd have time to finally relax
And have peace like no other...
I'd waste my time all day
And wouldn't have to share my stuff,
But I wouldn't get to be a brother-
THAT is reward enough.