Flower petals do not die
Fold them neatly
And place them on my upper thigh
Think about how they do treat me
Like I’m the thorn to a rose
Wishing to ***** their pointer finger
They don’t know me I suppose
Maybe when I grow up I’ll be a drinker
Drink myself to death and beyond
slouch upon my ***** couch
Thinking about the time when I was blond

I cannot reach the fruit on the tall tree in the woods
And all the men next to me are always telling me
C'mon man, just reach up high and grab one
C'mon man, the fruit tastes so very delicious
C'mon man, every real man here can, go on
C'mon man, you can't be that small, grab one like the rest of us

Well I am
And I cannot reach the fruit they can
So I will walk further in the forest
To find a tree small enough for me

And I see
Another boy like me
Picking the fruit of the small tree
And I will say
C'mon man, let us eat the fruit together
Because surly
The tall tree is not meant for us boys.

Wading through the waters of the past
You know this feeling will not last
But the rain just won't cease to pour
This life is known to be just a bore
Filling up your past with water
Gone with the flood is your poor old daughter
Raveging through cities and towns
Stand up on your roof so you won't drown
But in that tall wall of destruction
Is a body in need of reconstruction
Begging you to jump into it
Tell your mother you’ll be back in a bit
Back with a new friend that she doesn’t like
After the flood strike
You’ve changed beyond recognition

“You dated a girl and she became a man”
He
Was always
Man

It feels like
Relief.

Taking a deep breath and
Breathing for the first time.

Looking in the mirror and seeing someone familiar
Instead of that stranger that only grew more foreign with time.

A weightlessness from letting go of the heavy load
That had accumulated over the 15 years.

If feels like
Utter, pure joy.
Excitement.
Relief.
Freedom.

You can't open  the session with,
"How suicidal have you been feeling?"
And expect me not to immediately shut down.

"[Deadname], I know you're not..."
Choose your words carefully.
"stupid,"
Score.

"I know you can do it, you just choose not to."
It was never a choice, just a response.

"Come on, [deadname], just talk to me."
How am I meant to tell you to tell you of the deepest darkest parts of myself when you don't even know
my name.

How can you love me
When the name you know me by
Isn't truly me?

Her
Her
Her
Her

You want to see her in a pretty dress
That restricts the ribs, the lungs
Like my makeshift chest binder from years back

Her in a sparkly tiara
That weighs down the head
And makes me look
down
         down

Down at her shoes
High-heeled and floral
In which I stumble

In her father-daughter dance
Where he smiles bright
At his brilliant, beautiful-

Her blowing out the candles
Wishing for
...

I've only ever wished to rid of her,
And now here I am hidden behind these candles
In this dance,
Shoes,
Tiara,
Dress,
Body,

Her.

The reason you're hated, the
Reason your life is miserable, everyone is
Against you just because you're alive.
Nobody sees you as the true gender you are, they only
See you as a confused freak. They say that
God created you to be whatever you were born as,
Even though you're extremely uncomfortable because of it.
No one understands you, they see you as an abnormality.
Dysphoria begins to take over your body, mind and soul, the
Everlasting hate spreading around you. Being transgender is
Rough.