maybe i was just hiding behind pride and shiny things,
maybe the shame i hold inside myself was too big to be left unseen,
bright colors and silky clothes, dozens of rings and necklaces, and the swish swish of oversized chains on oversized pants on oversized everything,

all meant to hide the ugly swirls of my hands,
the highest notes of my voice,
the round parts of a body i cant stand to see from your eyes.

or then again
it could just be called surviving.

i will never quite fit into my body
it won't ever be a temple,
oozing perfection and glory,
bathed in all that i wish it was born as.

my body will never quite fit me,
but it might become a home,
reflecting love and pride,
built by years of hardships just to thrive.

In my hands I hold a pen, not a needle, but a pen.
Oh how I wish it were the needle.
Both hold the expression to that which I hold dearly.
For it's not just a pen or a needle that I hold;
It is me!

I Am Mark

I am Trans
I wonder if you are tired of me yet
I hear them yell monster
I see my demon
I want to go home and feel accepted
I am Trans

I pretend to be a girl and to be happy
I feel broken and empty
I touch my hair and cut it
I worry that you hate it
I cry in fear and pain  
I am Trans

I understand I will never be fixed
I say my mind is dark
I dream that you will call mark
I try to fight for the real me
I hope that you all can finally hear me
I am Trans

for now, i am only focused on
recognizing the girl in the mirror
she sometimes looks like a boy
her rotting skin draped in doll clothes.

sometimes her body expresses itself
gagging and shaking from fear
seizing like it forgot stillness.

other times her body expresses this massive monster thing
it's deep and thick and blue
on some nights she tells herself its the ocean
over and over again she tells herself
that he is the ocean.

she wanted to tell them about the men.
the poets and songwriters and fashion bloggers and computer programmers
the hours and days stolen from her
trying to find some meaning within their violence

the men that had ****** her everywhere.
the men that had touched parts of her that belonged to nobody.
pulling slapping tugging choking bruising scratching
owning pieces of her with more aptitude than she ever could.

in sickness and in health
she could only recreate the memory
of their throbbing, drooling penises
pulsing with the aggravation of power

in her bed she shivers and gags
she's come to realize that this is how men love.

on other nights she is the ocean
deep and embodying
open and consuming
feminine and destructive

Should i compare me to another’s form
Use their appearance as mine own blueprint
Mold my body into one else’s norm.
Could i oust myself to fit their imprint
And force myself to become but a hint
Of the man I once thought myself to be.
If i were to lose my personal tint
Would my life then lose authenticity?

Instead I compare my body to me.
Forget old models, I am the new first.
Born not of man but mine audacity,
Forged in mine own mind I arose headfirst.
The brightest rebirth to date I became
Someone wholly new and not just in name.