i took your name
as my own;
i liked it,
and wanted it love it
as much as i loved you;
because if i do not have you
i have something to hold on to

I wish we could exist,
just you and I,
curled together
in a sound-proof bubble.
Nothing but breathing
your air
and kissing
your lips
and touching
your silk-soft skin.
I wish we could float,
unseen and untouched
though this world
full of judgement
and hate.
You are my peace,
my smile,
you are the moment
I close my eyes
and my mind stills
and empties.
The moment
when nothing else matters,
but the feel
and the smell
and the taste
of you.

I wish we could be,
just be.

I am male
I am human
the word “Girl” is like getting stabbed in the chest.

Getting called a girl
a lady
a female
but no, I am male.

People don't understand the pain of dysphoria
they don't understand the pain,
getting called the wrong name
or the wrong gender.

People say it’s
a phase
it’s a choice,
but they will never understand,
I was born this way.

I can't change who I am and I don't want to
I am transgender
I am human
I am proud.

Dysphoria
you are not wanted
people hate you
they just want to feel normal

But you stop that
dysphoria
you are not needed
the pain you give people

You make them struggle
hurt
cry
but

Dysphoria you are also good
you help people understand
they are not who they are told
you help them get to who they really are

Dysphoria
you are bad and good
painful
but you are also helpful

A black snake coiled itself around him last night,
until it rolled him 'round and 'round with his legs kicking
and he nodded off into sleep with his eyes teary and his ribs aching from the fight.
The great serpent eased up around him,
but once more in the day and well into the next night,
it constricted his bones to the point of breaking,
and through the lies and false promises of the reptile
he cried and cursed his life, his birth, his body.

When I look in the mirror,
What do I see?
I see a 'girl' i see everything I'm not.

Wearing dresses to concerts
And makeup to parties
Why can't I wear a suit?

Being eloquent and fancy
"Dont mess up your hair!"
Why can't my hair be shorter?

Nails manicured to perfection
Painted a hot pink
Why can't they be painted blue..?


Its like tar
Sinking into my stomach
I can feel it weighing me down

I cant speak, I can't tell.
I can't get help for no one knows
How do I get rid of it..?


I grip my hair with both hands and pull
I can f e e l it tearing
I can f e e l my head bleeding
But i dont care because at least my hair is shorter, and at least some pressure is gone.

I paint with the silver and watch as my canvas turns red.
I make sure it goes across the stream and not with the flow..
I make sure to clear up afterwards.

"Why cant you be normal?"
"What's with the weird attitude"
"Its just a p h a s e"

I run home crying after school.
Its only 3pm
My parents get home at 5 pm

I go to the bathroom and grab my mom's medications.

I grab the silver, sharp-edged paintbrush.

I grab my journel and start to tell my story..

By the time my parents got home..

Their son was too far gone.

Seventeen-year old boy
With oestrogen caught in his chest,
With flags that he wears like a crest,
Defining his torture with pink and blue stripes
Boy,
Hiding in plain sight

Sixteen year old "girl",
Asked what she wants for her birthday,
Lost for words, she has nothing to say
"On my birthday I want to not
Feel dysphoria" Replies filled with sighs and a nod
Girl,
Faking her smiles,
Pretending she's fine
When she hears the word "Girl"

Ten year old "boy",
He's sick of hearing the difference,
Sick of the snickers and whispers that call him
"Tomboy"
As if he's only half-trying
As if he doesn't hide, crying,
He doesn't know who he is,
But he's sick of criticisms
Because
He's not girly enough,
But not boyish enough,
And everyone insists, one day you'll grow up
And you'll be a real girl
A n d  
           I
Was, for a while,
I learned how to smile,
With genuine contentment, I thought
I am enough...

But then I grew up.

I look at my chest the way I'd look at a wound
I know it's a part of me,
I know it's there,
But it feels temporary,
And a little gross,
Like when I sliced my thumb
On glass at 1am.
My binder is a bandage
And it's hard to take it off,
Because I feel the wound open up,
And my back hurts from wearing the bandage,
But it's so much better than
Seeing where my skin splits in two