I am a nameless creature so fluid,
Never the same from day to day.
I pinned myself down too soon,
On a whim I named myself.
It was the wrong time for it,
I was not ready and didn't think.
Now I am 17,
No longer the scared 13 year old I was.
The name I chose was wrong.
My parents detested it too much,
And it just wasn't mine.
I know no name shall feel like mine,
Not more than a few months,
But that's okay with me.
I will pin myself down again,
My name is now Max.
It may stick,
It may not.

He wants to be your boy
Soft and innocent
And rough, but coy
Though, he knows he'll never be intimate

You want to be a boy
A defined jaw
Ecstatic and full of joy
The most handsome boy you ever saw

I am a boy
I ruffle my hair when I talk
Standing confident in corduroy
But the definition is lost in the fog

i am stuck inside this body. and it feels all wrong. tears sting my eyes every time i look in the mirror. the face in the reflection isn’t showing my authentic self. but god, a whole lifetime of burying myself in the dirt and i can’t seem to stop choking on it.

the roots have tangled around my body, holding me lifeless in limbo. it’s my fault for letting it condition me into believing i am not meant for anything other than soil. i must have the strength to break free, i can see the light glowing. but i am too scared to touch it after rotting in the darkness for a lifetime.

but god i just want to break free, to be rid of the worms eating away at me. i want to feel the sun on my skin. i want to know myself when i am not covered in dirt. it’s just so hard to dig myself out of it when i am the one that dug it deeper than it had ever been before. i am tired. my muscles ache.

will i ever be able to look in the mirror and see a man staring back at me? the musculature, peace in my eyes, and their perceptions correct? dirt under my fingernails proving the fight it took to break free?

i hate what i see because it is not correct. what went wrong? why was i born in the wrong body? why is this war raging inside me? why can’t i just accept it? why do i feel like sometimes i would rather just roll over in the dirt and rot?

i know there is still time but it’s not moving fast enough. i am drowning inside this body. if i could just turn adam’s rib into my own. but i fall victim to the idea i’ll always just be made from a man’s rib without ever having the body it came from. a rib is not enough. i need to be the whole creation.

“Is that a girl?”
“I must be mistaken”
“His voice is what gives him away.”
“I can see that his stubble is just growing in”
“And his shoulders are broad”
“Keep that **** pervert away.”

I will come back to you
A little taller than before
You will never know what's true
How my legs and arms tore
I really hate the summer
The breeze makes me sad
I’ll try not to be a ******
But you know I can’t make you glad
I’ve always been scared
That summer brings death
(Sticky hot and flies buzz round
Upon the roadkill on the ground)
I’ll never know if you cared
Getting close so I can feel your breath
The summer is worse than spring
In that the birds won’t sing

I mourn the self that was taken from me.
A beautiful woman that I’ll never be.
A stunning reflection that I’ll never see.

Instead, a short man, barely any stubble.
Will be made, created, formed out of her rubble.
In a sense, I’m two people, metaphorically double.

I’m the man that I am, but also her too.
She lies in the organs and ******* that I grew.
She never would have existed if earlier I knew.

She is my body, and he is my mind.
Though sometimes I want to, I can’t leave either behind.
I hope if they were to meet me, they’d say I am kind.

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