I'm a fake human
It's true because they say so
I'm not even real

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.

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
***** 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.

My whole world
Crashing
Down around my ears,
And all you can do is
*******
Laugh.
"It’s schadenfreude, *****.
Nothing I can do.
You gotta help yourself."
Help myself?
Ok.
I get up in the mornings
When I feel like leaving my bed
Might **** 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.
Wrong.
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
Labelled
“nice try, *******.”
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. *******. Tell me
That you understand.
No,
You don’t.
How can you,
Unless you’ve spent days,
Hiding in your room,
Because downstairs there are knives
And everything
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.
Meditate.
Practice
Mind
Full
Ness.

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.

They preach about pride
“Pride is a sin!”
People nod obediently
“Two men kissing is a sin!”
A few more obedient nods

WHAT ARE WE?
Slaves? Do we obey all the things
That a silly old book says
To get to a place most probably
Will never see
Since they’ve committed just one
ONE SIN?

Two men kissing
Sounds harmless as a butterfly
Two girls kissing
Sweet as sugar

It’s fine to be yourself
Boy, girl, both or none
It’s accepted in the animal kingdom
Why not the human one?
Are you scared of a book?
A book that controls how you act
How you talk, speak, pray?

Have pride everyone!
Have pride in yourself!
Who you are!
Who you want to be!
BECAUSE SOMEONE
SOMEONE IN THIS BEAUTIFUL
GREEN/BLUE PLANET
WILL LOVE YOU FOR IT!

man in the bathroom
why are you staring at me
i’m meant to be here

i wanna be that
hit me hard
daredevil soul
feel his arms
trophy boy

i wanna be that
little taller
dream boat
punk rock
pretty boy

i wanna be that
inspiration
i know him
actor's heart
poet boy

i wanna be that
chin dusted
heart surgery
straight down
testosterone boy

i wanna be that boy
i wanna be me

but i can never be that boy
if it's true that boys don't cry

i miss the sadness
i miss the home that never was
the beautiful you never thought you were

where has your pretty gone
who’s wearing your flowered dress now
whose lips are your boyfriends kissing
who could’ve known this was to come

i miss your father’s pride
when you gave him a reason to be sober
now all you are is disappointment
another unlucky occurrence for him to sleep with on the couch
his favourite drinking buddy

i miss church
i miss the red the pastor turned you
the blood running to your holy cheeks
when the congregation applauded
at the fact that you would burn for this
that this secret would be the end of you
the ***** that came up in that bathroom
the god that frowned upon the smell

i miss the way boys used to look at you
when you were something to be desired
when you made others feel more than just confused
when you weren’t an inconvenience to love
you’d rather your innocence be stolen for being beautiful
than for being unwanted
i suppose you pick your poison

i miss the way you looked
every night you cried
the colour mascara makes when it meets blood
like drugstore lipstick
at least there was something gorgeous
something romantic about it
the way the moonlight made your bones stick out
it was something boys could fall in love with

pretty girl
why would you ruin yourself like this
happy girl
how couldn’t you see it for yourself
you were a trophy
your future said husband
it said children
it said the life we want for you
forget your own

you were not happy
but how can you learn to be now
that place that played safe haven
at least, was warm

you are not sure if you miss the sadness
you simply know
this world wants you to