Well, what can I say?
I played a show not long ago
And it’s been playing on my mind
You see what i love to do
remains true to me
and helps me to unwind

So Let’s be kind
and rewind just a little...

I have to remember I can’t please everyone
Sometimes I wish my heart wasn’t so tender
And I sometimes I wish I could

It’s on the tip of my tongue,
But I just can’t put my finger on it,
It’s like I’ve got an itch on my nose,
One that grows and grows,
and then again no one knows about it,
why I post such a negative thing on FakeBook,
Cos i’m so hooked on that one thought,
That’s brought me to my knees,
Posting on Stutterbook seems like my only release,
And then I think to myself...
Wait a minute!
THIS is MY way of life
No one else’s!
I am NOT doing this for them,
I am doing it for me
As long as I love writing
As long as I love producing
As long as I love performing
And even recording
And rehearsing

I now have a better understanding
of what hard work means
Blood, sweat and tears
Something that takes years and years
I’m happy to mention all my fears are fading,
Erasing all my doubts I had as an artist
well, I could’ve just said carthasis,
But I just had to look on google translate
so I can demonstrate to you
That I am always learning
Yearning to get better and better
Cos like I mentioned earlier
This Is
MY way of life
An auto-pilot cruise through the static oceans
and all I had was you as my muse
Fused with the wires, nuts and bolts of my heart,
That thus were still missing certain elements
compassion, empathy or perhaps other things that were not able to come to light
Our bodies intertwined and the warm soothing sound of your breath seething through my ears at night
Outstanding arrears fuelling my fears of losing my faith, my face, as if it’s just me who has fallen from grace,
No longer able to place my hand upon your skin,
As I’m so blinded by this anger that I have allowed to plague me from within,
If only we could begin....
Again and again and again...
So as I take a deep breathe in,
While you’re SO captivated doing your OWN thing,
We tried an experiment,
But all it did was leave a dent in our egos,
Broke these illusions we had of a life between us
for you and I,
not US and WE
will always be
Extraordinary pioneers
I never knew
that I would have to cut out
parts of my life to be free
the operation was long in anticipation
these breasts of mine were never mine
a literal weight off of my chest
is top surgery
now my life begins
and I can be me
Not only for ftm transgender people do we have to learn the lesson of letting go and cutting out parts of our past.
Dan Beyer Apr 2
She, her,
Triggering a cascade
Of suicidal thoughts.
I am not enough.
Dan Beyer Apr 2
I'm a fake human
It's true because they say so
I'm not even real
Dan Beyer Feb 5
Prescriptions got me sentenced
These needles are my penance
My life’s contained in a vial
Body’s stuck in denial
Can’t bear to spare a drop
Little beads of blood that drip
Symptoms that need to stop
Belonephobia, loosened grip
Vision fades in an out
Staggered just for a Sec
Soon to find that little bout
Did worse than to break my neck
…My vile…
…My life in a pile
My life all over the floor in broken shards.
I feel like I could have pressed harder on the prison symbolism...
Maybe, "Body's stuck at trial" instead... and maybe even something about the sentence/prescription being life long... Thoughts?
Dan Beyer Jan 29
A disappointment
That's all that I am
Born to defy
They say I'm not human
I am more
Tell me that I'm not
Bitch I built myself up
From the bottom to the top
I fought for who I am
I'm not say'n I'm a saint
Not say'n that I am perfect
Or that I haven't got complaints
Got plenty o' em
I've done things that I regret
My parents are ashamed of me
Can't bare what they beget
They may never call me son
Or see me for who I am
All they wanted was a little girl
Not a transgender man.
Kit 7d
Become a
in my own skin
Harri Jun 16
My whole world
Down around my ears,
And all you can do is
"It’s schadenfreude, bitch.
Nothing I can do.
You gotta help yourself."
Help myself?
I get up in the mornings
When I feel like leaving my bed
Might kill me.
Sometimes I even get dressed
Even though the seams of jeans
Scraping against my thighs
Is like a subtle, silent torture.
Reminding me
Of the scars they sit against.
Even though the necessity
Of removing my shirt
Makes me want to peel off
My skin along with it.
Because it doesn’t fit
Has never fitted
Feels so wrong.
I help myself
Every time I take a bite of food,
Ignoring the voice in my head
That tells me I’m fat.
Every time I step out the front door
Fighting through a wall
Built in my head
But very, very solid,
Constructed of all the fears
My subconscious can imagine.
And it can imagine a lot,
Trust me,
I’m a writer and an artist,
My imagination knows no bounds.
Mix it with self loathing,
And a good measure of crazy
And it makes a witch’s brew
“nice try, dumb ass.”
Don’t tell me to help myself,
When you have no idea
What it is like to live
While arguing with yourself,
Being shouted at inside your head,
Everything a battle.
Don’t. fucking. Tell me
That you understand.
You don’t.
How can you,
Unless you’ve spent days,
Hiding in your room,
Because downstairs there are knives
And everything
In you wants to feel them
Sliding through your flesh.
How can you,
If you haven’t looked in a mirror
And seriously contemplated
Just hacking bits off.
Because the pain of doing that
Would surely be less
Than the pain of seeing
Those alien body parts
Hanging from your frame
Every day.
How can you know?
How can you tell me
To just smile.
Just think positive.
Just go for a walk.
Drink green tea.
Eat some chocolate.
Do yoga.

Don’t tell me I’m ok.
I’m not.
And that’s ok.
I don’t have to be a perfect,
Functioning member of your society.
They’re your rules,
Not mine.
I don’t have to be happy in myself
All the time.
I don’t have to smile
Until my face aches,
While holding my tears inside.
I help myself.
Every day.
Just by continuing to exist.
By continuing to look ahead
And try.
Cayden Jun 16
but mom you weren’t there December 14, 2016.  you weren’t there when I sat in my teacher’s room, sobbing and wondering why I had to be the one to go through this.  wondering why God was punishing me.  you weren’t there when I sat in that crowded, suffocating room mumbling through tears about how I didn’t know if you would accept me- or if my friends would accept me- or if I would ever find true love.

but mom you weren’t there for my first heartbreak.  you weren’t there when the girl i fell for so hard told me she didn’t feel the same way. you weren’t there when i had to look into her ocean blue eyes and hear those dreadful words of rejection.  you weren’t there for the night full of drinking- 1,2,3,4,5,6,7 no 8 beverages to wash away the pain.  you weren’t there the day after, when I woke up hung over and feeling like the world had betrayed me.  like i had been cursed by a plague so evil, no one could survive it. you weren’t even there the following night when I cried myself to sleep, or the following months when all I wanted to do was empty the bottle of liquor under the cabinet because why did I have to be gay? why couldn’t i be like the other girls?  why did i keep getting tricked into believing i could be happy?  you weren’t there during that time of depression and anxiety, when the only thing that could relieve my anger and sadness were red lines on the side of my hip.  

but mom you weren’t there when i got my first boyfriend.  yes, the first boy i ever let take off my clothes and try to kiss away the pain and sin.  you weren’t there when i had to fake a smile at parties and hold onto his arm.  when i had to kiss him and pretend like the pain i felt wasn’t just me dying inside.  you weren’t there when all i felt like i could do was hide my identity, because family and friends were more important than becoming who I was, right?

but mom you weren’t there when I first came out as transgender.  you weren’t there when i went to my friends house crying and wondering again, why this had to be me. wondering why i couldn’t be like the others girls. why my life had to unfold in this gruesome pattern. why i couldn’t feel comfortable in my body, in my home.  why i was going to have to struggle with years of dysphoria and depression.  you weren’t there when we made a “pros and cons” list, debating if the potential murder rate of 1/12 and ridicule from peers would be worth it.  you weren’t there when i craved that sharp point on my skin and the burning of alcohol that wiped away the drips of maroon blood.

but mom you were there when I sent you and dad a letter announcing my decision to transition.  you were there through those dreadful months when i heard you crying in the bathroom and not understanding why YOUR family had to go through this.  but more importantly mom you were there— no you were the reason— that i sat on the floor of my shower sobbing, wishing I could disappear. you were there for all of that, but quite frankly, i wish you hadn’t been.
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