Genderfluid
I am a girl, at least to everyone but me,
I am gay, and straight too, and both, and neither,
I do not want attention, I even try to avoid,
But you call me a she,
But I am changing, every day,

I cry when you know I am not so,
I am a boy today...I am gay
You don't notice, or care,
You just put more cuts on my wrist,
And hurt me more with every word...
"*****," you call with ease,
But you do not know, I am a boy today
"****," you say... I am a ******

Death my mind calls with every single word...
But you do not care, for you smile at my pain, as I call for my love,
"Dakota..."

We got back from the bar and were sitting at a makeshift one in our friend's ratty old trailer that was barely suitable to live in.
He grabbed a piece of paper and began writing something out of my eye sight.
He smiled and slid it over to me like we were passing notes in class.
"You are cute. Wanna hold hands?"
Check YES, or NO.
I put a check mark in the box next to Yes and just as quietly gave it back.
We smiled at each other and I shoved the yellow piece of paper into my purse for safe keeping.
It now hangs on my fridge underneath a magnet from the Aquarium.

June 29th, 2017
It’s been 1 year, 4 months and 19 days.
For 1 year, 4 months and 19 days.
Count the acidic tree rings
Nearly 504;
Bright
A.m. eyes
On East Ferry,
in contrast of noir
I say, man;
June 29th, 2017.

It’s time to get a new calendar,
Cause I count 5,000 dollars later
and not a sense of a cent
was fined for my remorse.

I’ve been fine and fined.
Holes in my pockets
dropping seeds of change
planting fines

Into puddles
and potholes
showing deep interest
into the alignment of my car
stalling my engine with debts.

19,000 dollars and growing later;
I learned what trigger warnings cost
and ironically
I wrote a paper on it.

Don’t get me, wrong I am grateful
But, I had to rip holes
into all my jean pockets.
I mean, **** it,
I never had much going in
And I should quit smoking
My lighter is dead
Only blue and red
Sparks lived well in my mirrors
On, June 29th, 2017.


From the wall I was chained to,
I enrolled into college
My mom drove me home from my first class.
My lawyer wasn’t much of a lecturer,
He spoke math for 1,400 dollars

250 and 9 weeks.
106 a month for 52.

That’s enough math for this semester.

I drank with my night instructor on Mondays after 9,
He wanted to hear my music
We drank whiskey salted potholes on Allen
I counted his tree rings to 4/4 measure in regret;
20 years steady.

I graduated on a Tuesday morning,
I didn’t call him back to thank him for the irony.

I acknowledged our acidic rings
With glass cheered laughter
Swallowing thanks for each other’s company.
9 weeks and I don’t recall ever leaving the room.
43 went after,

And today life is that,
Paid for in lessons,
No need for pockets

I am those potholes
bumping coffee all over me
20 mins late to my first class.
I can repave them
but they won’t stay filled
It’s OK to want smoother roads to school.
I’m late but I’m here

I’m a mess.
******* would see art.
People have his eyes on me.
I want to be framed and splattered
on the walls of your home
A household mess .
It’s OK to have a passion.

Look into my tree rings
How old am I?
Its restorative to count
27 rings of rebirth
Look at me still growing
I believe I can grow in Paradise-lost fire
Or in Buffalo salt

I am my flaws
I counted them

My alcohol abuse,
One beat of 2,653 in 2017
I don’t know how to put an apology
On a music sheet.


The Jazz fills my potholes in the morning
before these hallways

My grey area is stained glass in Villas library,
Each step is eclectic
From shoe up and over is stand still art

Lighters flash cigarettes burning
But prints pictures of thankful new memories

With all of you in it.
Thank you for helping me with today’s date.

cigarettes make me feel better about abandoning you
I want a jeep because of when you would drive your mom's
and play rap songs
I want to be what I thought you were

Frozen feet,
Hot oatmeal,
White noise,
Blurry letters.

Days melt into each other,
The passage of time now a soupy broth of numbness.
Distractions,
Sleep.
It’s not enough.

Dried up watercolours call my name,
Where’d you go?
I’m sorry, I’ve been awfully busy.
I’ve been carving faces into walls.
I’ve been eating my nails just to feel something.
No taste yet, but I’ll keep you updated.

“2:36”
says the clock on the wall.
with  
every
passing
minute
time  
slows
and
my thoughts  
drift off
into
another world.
a sly pain
creeps up
the ridge of my nose
and trickles
down into  
my eyes  
i blink,
--once--
--twice—
a frail attempt to
push it back,
her eyes filled with
sincere concern.
she asks if i'm okay,
snapping me out of my daze,
i blurt out,  
yeah, i'm fine,
it’s just a headache.
offering her a  
small smile,
in an effort
to calm the dull ache
i press my cool fingers
over my eyes
and move my thumbs  
in tiny circles
along my temples
a rush of relief  
washes over me,
but it lasts  
only a few seconds.  
suddenly
waves of pain
flood the space between my temples
and course
down my neck,
piercing  
into my shoulders.
i nestle my head
into my arms
muffling
the shouts and roars  
around me.
slowly
i lift my head  
and peek
at the clock  
“2:41”
at last
my suffering is over,
for today.

but  

there is
always  
tomorrow.

-Tasnim Uddin

French class is boring, my friend thinks so too
She says it's tedious, and she would cut class
But then she said, "How about you?"

The teacher is strict, and yet she was new
Her somber shrieks could break the strongest of glass
French class is boring, my friend thinks so too

One day she had a cup of brew
And she drank it when she was full of sass
But then she said, "How about you?"

She knew the drink was out of my view
And she said that the cup was made with quartz glass
French class is boring, my friend thinks so too

She reminisced about her time with a saucy beau
And how he was a sergeant first class
But then she said, "How about you?"

And now she looks at skies of blue
And no longer she did harass
French class is boring, my friend thinks so too
But then she said, "How about you?"

She’s my sunshine
She’s my love
She’s my fighter
My inner peace, my dove

She’s my supporter
She’s my answer
She’s my listener
I couldn’t live without her

She’s my protector
She’s my inspiration
She’s my forgiver
Yeah, she’s a sensation

She’s my healer
She’s my new day
Without her
I wouldn’t be who I am today