The name her parents gave her is Grace Harper
She lacks self confidence
She is anxiety ridden and reliant on makeup
She wears what her sisters think she should wear
She constantly has on some kind of hoodie
If she says she’s cold they won’t question her shaking hands
She hides away in her room
She loses herself in other worlds, searching for an escape
She isn’t comfortable with herself
Everything seems wrong

The name they chose for themself is Leviathan Andrew
Levi for short
They carry themself with pride
They wear makeup because they want to, not because they need to
They wear whatever they want to
They don’t need a hoodie to feel safe
They’re hands still shake but they’re not afraid to talk about it
They still like time alone and they still love to read
They have no need for escape
They love themself
Everything feels right.

"There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you."
-Maya Angelou

My soul is a sweetie:
She’s a cute but ****,
with an infectious smile,
an enchanting personality.
She wears dark colors,
slightly goth makeup,
and thick-rimmed glasses.
She likes candles, tea,
sweaters, and cannabis,
and goes on long walks
in the woods by starlight.
She’s cool and confident,
outgoing and fun,
and as beautiful as
a moonrise reflected
off of a frozen lake.

She’s me.
But I am not her.
She’s the me inside
of the me inside of me.

She cries when my mind
grapples with the bounds
of the mental illness
that gives her life.
She screams in pain
when my mind tries
to rationalize her
and explain her away.
And she glows with joy
whenever I try
to grow closer to her.
She’s the part of me
I never asked for,
whose existence hurts
like a deep burn,
but nonetheless makes
me truly be myself.

No longer sitting to rot
Like bare bark against winter’s cold
Falling and crashing
After a storm

The ***** of lighting with a crash of thunder
Left me with nothing, nowhere, no one
Noticeably nervous and running
From a reality I did not want

I hid.
Trying to quietly comfort myself

My family, the sheet
Blinding me from
Feelings I could not hide

In our final days
When I felt us splitting like
The tears and tracks left
Across my thighs
With hatred
And fear

I looked back at the face in the mirror
Abandoned and angered
With anatomy I could not change
Long locks, curves, and society
Stared back in that mirror

Screaming that I would never be he

Skin slashed
And eyes wide
At a body I had broken
Because it was not mine
I would have to overthrow
All that I had been brought up to be

Rebel to be the he that was not she

See them go..
A million suicidal shamblers, staring out
Hatred and beauty and dilated eyes
And long hair punks waiting for a revolution that will save them. United in disunity, calmed by deaths and shocked by wonders of medicine
Cool and collected, lost and dyslexic
They wonder at the halogen lights and stare at extinguished candles
Catching at the edge of their sight a whiff of angel-smoke
How many were cast out and how many ran
To this mecca, this eden, this dying heaven
Filled with the dead? Who knows
They are the ones who wander in daylight through the city square
Swigging red wine and chanting obscene hymns
***** millennial drag kings of all they survey
living in art deco flats, old factories and empty rooms
they lie awake and listening to the shunting streets outside
and the symphony of buskers on the corner.
They love each other in wild ******
Dancing to rhythms stolen from ***** songs
Screaming, bellies full of claret
And brassic basic dysphoric cravings they writhe and fall
And hum against each others’ bodies
Drawing knives along each others’ veins
And hope,
Frozen,
Waiting for the revolution.

That will save them.

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

i am not an it.
i am not an object.
i have a pulse.
i have a beating heart.
i am made of stardust.
i am made up of skin and bones.
and you still call me an **it.
your mind can't grasp the idea that
i am a strong woman one day
and a strong male the next.

sweet-tea lover,
what a delicate touch
your lips brush against my spine

kiss me, darling
pull me close to you,
sweeten me with your sugar

in her eyes I see stars
if I could,
I’d spend hours peering into their depths
and look for constellations

every time our gazes meet,
I search for a shooting star
I make a wish but never tell,
or else it won’t come true

she is like a galaxy
beautiful,
endless,
ethereal

I’m standing on the platform,
I should’ve never let you go,
I miss your warmth,
I die as fast as you’ve seen me grow.

Silent, blind and slow,
I still see you go,
Here today, gone tomorrow,
You were my morning rain,
And I was your night snow.

Even with the sun gone,
You were my light through it all.
Let me say my last goodbye,
So I don’t have to be covered up in blankets,
And look like a sad snowball.