Blood is thicker than water.

I'm nine years old and my mother had sighed us both up for a dieting course.

At eighteen I still see how interchangeable fatness and ugliness are to her.

I still have to stop myself from thinking of skipping meals after I ate "too much".

Clinging to the fear of the slippery ***** that serves as my only guard.


I see it in my friends too,
comforted by their opposition for what my mother had embraced like gospal for the helpless fools.



Blood is thicker than water.

I like the hairs on my body.
The short and soft strands that cover my legs, blonde and black and all too
natural.

Removing them leaves my legs red and *****-*****- pickling for days but-

My sister laughs through a wrinkled nose,
My cousin tells stories, horrified, of women like me,
Mother says it's unhygienic and would not let me leave the house like this.


I haven't worn shorts in years.

But my friends' confident '*******' to everyone who isn't them,
who dares control their bodies and shame them into pain or hiding,

makes me feel like one day I might wear them again.



Blood is thicker than water,

I find it hard to talk to people.
The thought of discussing anything more than trivial matters makes my lunges heavy in my chest.

Talking to my parents- a heavy led filling what seem less and less like lungs with every passing second.

Talking to my friends- the heaviness doesn't always go away, but the weight doesn't get harder to bear.


I heard my mother tell a friend how her kids talk to her about everything.

A bitter laugh never tasted so much as the sea.



Blood is thicker than water,

Since I can remember myself, I never wanted kids.
Took me years so unveil why.

The dismissal cut deep when Mother assumed she knew me better than I do, a cruel arrogance for what she must only consider her property.
'You'll change your mind and give me grandchildren'

A payment for my life-
"Interest" she calls it.



Blood is thicker than water,

When I came out to you, dear parents, you once again ignored me

as if I hadn't tortured myself enough,

as if it hadn't taken me years trying to accept myself before you turned your back on me with cruel dismissal.

As if I don't still struggle.


All I have left is to fall back on my friends' support again,

being caught in their loving embrace without ever asking to.



They say you can't choose your family but-

the blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.

That girl lies in bed with ducts that weep.
She rises from her bitter bed
With thoughts of suicide in her head
She idolises being dead.
Facing the day wishing it would all just end

The only thing keeping her here
Is the golden locket around her neck
As she looks at the photo
And remembers the promises she made
She knows that one day it will be better

So she puts the knife down
And calls the girl who is in the locket
She knows she will make her smile
And remind her she is worth more than she thinks

When you meet a person the first instinct is to know their name,
A proper noun to represent them as a whole,
A name can define you,
And make you a person, not just a being.
So when people ask my name, why is it that I am so pained to admit it?
The name I was given at birth,
my dear loving parent had picked out so carefully from all the rest,
why must it hurt so much to admit?
Why can't I appreciate my name?
Why don't It feel like it is my name?

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, you're weak, I can tell, so cry on your knees

"Such a pretty name" they say,
"It suits you so well" they say,
But it makes me sick to my stomach,
I just want to hurl those letters into oblivion,
A garbled mess from which I can reform who I am.
Reform my name.
And my father wonders why I wear thick jumpers in the summer,
My mother looks concerned when she sees my lack of breath,
From the construction of the 4 sports bras on my chest.
And from her lips slips that horrid name.
And it's like I can breathe even less.

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, you're weak, I can tell, so beg in your knees

My aunt wonders why I cut my pretty hair,
My grandad thinks it's weird that I won't wear a dress,
I don't get why "God" is angry when clearly it's just them,
I thought he taught us to love each other?
Does this rule not apply to me?
"A loving daughter" yeah right;
Just you wait and see.

My name is dysphoria, you answer to me, disgusting, revolting, now spout me your plea.

My sister tries to be supportive but I can tell she doesn't get it,
My mother doesn't mention it,
My father hardly looks at me.
But they don't understand the joy I felt,
When I took that first injection.
My hormones set on fire,
My blood set a light,
And for once in my life-
My body started to feel right.

My name is dysphoria, you should answer to me, disgusting, revolting, a girl in boys clothing.

And yeah, my family might not use my new name,
But it's on my driver's license,
My passport,
My soul,
And finally I was excited to introduce myself to people.
Finally I was happy to exist,
I was happy to be me-
A boy at last.
With a real name: Rory.

I like boys
They can protect me from the world
A world filled with pain and betrayal
I can wear their jumpers and t shirts
I can feel safe in their arms

I like girls
They can make me smile and forget
Forget about the tears I’ve shed
They can wear my perfume and rings
I can feel loved when holding hands

There’s nothing wrong with that, right?
All I want is love and protection
To date the pretty girls
To date the bad boys

Yet, I still get hate
To society I don’t exist
My sexuality isn’t valid
Its. Just. A. Phase

They call me greedy
They say I’m confused
Just pick, they say
Bisexuality isn’t a thing

Jokes on them
I won’t pick a side
God said Adam and Eve
So, I did both

******* to my wrist when I looked at you,
The pulsating heartbeat with your eyes of blue.
And the cliché’s said you could swim in the colour,
But I was flying into the heat of the Summer.
Feelings were hidden, tightly disguised,
Caterpillars cocooned in my stomach birthed into butterflies.
And as their ****** wings fluttered, I began to mutter, that maybe there’s more to this spell I was under.

Your hair like cinnamon; your palms like cotton,
The hold of two bodies began to soften.
“The lovesick feeling turned into healing,” I spoke,
“You were the scent in my incense, dancing in the smoke.”
I watched your fingers curl into mine;
On the map of your hands, I unearthed our journeys along the lines.
About the new truths of my world, my mind scattered and curled, oh, how beautiful to fall in love with a girl.

***** and Quims should be worshiped.

For whichever you have, dictates how the rest of your life shall be.

To those who biologically have both, how like gods you seem to me.

To those who spiritually have both, what cursed and barren, in-between lands stock we.

Why do you care so much are you gay?
A question I remember often being asked.
How illogical it is to assume your child
will be anything other than straight,
to be raised on the belief that other
was either a phase or a sin.
Maybe I just care about people as human beings -
or maybe there was something more to it.
How wrong it felt to push my sexuality in a corner
and pretend it did not exist.

Once I pushed past that,
the feeling was surreal.
Finally embracing your true self
is a feeling you never forget.
I did not choose this;
To fall in love with words, personalities, feelings,
never confined to gender,
but I have accepted it.
That is what is most liberating.
I feel free.
~ I.M

destination unknown
surrounded by people yet feeling alone
what have I done?
the world’s greatest game
is when you miss the stop
but you won’t feel the shame
le petite mort on replay
and for her bottom I was the perfect top
who’s there to blame ? ⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀