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On the church steps sits a boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
A book lies on the skirt of the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
"Why are you not inside?" I ask the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
"They kicked me out" Replies the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt

The church has "All are welcome" on its doors, refuses the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
"What's your name?" I ask the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
Nothing is said by the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
I adjust my skirt and button up my shirt, as a girl in pants and a blouse welcomes me, the boy in a skirt and a button up shirt
ME?? Changing the title of my poems?? Yes. Anyway this poem is about being Queer and being LDS ๐Ÿ‘
I do not know you now
My memories are not my own
Manipulation you created
Sinks through my bones

The man who laughed at the smile
Called him akin to Helen of Troy
Who did not know his own child
He does not understand the boy

Not a helpless girl who was stolen
She can not speak for her own
But a free boy who is known
He is not used to being alone

The confidence is overwhelming
The ability to think freely
But all father knows is yelling
He is a new man completely
HELP idk if this is coherent AT ALL, but you know, I hope you enjoy my little poem about uhhh being a trans guy in an abusive household with some ancient Greece references <33
orion brayde Sep 9
you're all i could ever want
never romantic but you're still the one
i look at you and see who i could be

we aren't so different are we?
a couple years apart
still, you mean the world to me

do you ever look at me and think
"he's who i used to be"?
maybe i'm the strange one
for seeing me in you

cherry coke and a gender crisis,
say you see yourself in me
say i'm not imagining it
Dylan Sep 3
The flash reveals a ghost.
She stands in the present,
a figure from the past.
You can feel the future inside of her
yearning to be the now.
But it is not his time just yet.
Dylan Aug 31
Hand in hand,
tears from two form a river
The world stills in mourning as the little girl dies.

He tries to loosen his grip,
but her hold remains.

The boy can only watch as she starts to fall
Her body descending in the waves.
Finally as she lets go,
he tightens his hold
and struggles to keep her afloat.

Sinking under,
she gently whispers
โ€œThey mourn for you
And the youth I stole.โ€
Arlen Feb 28
This body is not my home
The words you use for me are not my own
So, please don't presume to know me
As you see my passing by
What lies beneath the surface
Is more than what meets
Society's eye
Arlen Feb 21
The name is not quite dead
Sometimes it still falls from my own lips
But one day soon
Things will change
I'll send out the bullet
Then the name can lay
Within the tomb
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