I am a boy
I refuse to believe
This is my body
As I slip on the dress, I think
About how wrong it feels
You go on and on
That I am pretty
But I dream of you saying
Anything else
I don’t want to be
This person
In fact, I love
That this isn’t me
And you will never tell me
I’m a girl

You are a loser.
It's not right to claim that
you are great.
You can do well.
But that's not true because
You are less of a person.
You'll never succeed since
you are just an underdog.

(Now read bottom up.)

I was going to compose a parallel poem
mirroring the ways you show you care
but you have made it evident
that I will never be your home.

You would
thoughtfully answer my never-ending stream of questions
carry me to bed with a blissful blanket of sleep and softness
grant me the honor of wearing anything you owned, and smile at my choices
actively correspond with me, more in the span of a few weeks than your standard for a lifetime
trust me to take care of your bright-green banana-of-a-boy
assist and twist and crack my spine further
track and plot my heartrate to find a trend in tempo and tone
and always provide the nearness I need to breathe
and feel
and be
myself.

I did not need to pen a poem
to know that you care, albeit reticent
but you have made it evident
that I will never be your home.

My thought kept hunting me

I loved you, like the calm ocean
a deep blue uncertainty.

I loved you, like a pure rage of storm
that's when I found myself.

that's when I felt truly alive.