I am standing on a staircase, on the seventeenth step,
but the eighteenth onwards has no bannister,
up until now, I've had a safety net,
something to lean on when
the steps aren't lit properly.

'Now', I tell myself,
'I've seen people who have fallen
and manage to grip to the edge
and pull up...towards the next'.
'But I've seen people fall
and never get up'.

I say;
'Am I another statistic?
Am I another failure?
Am I another mangled corpse for the cleaners?
Or...
Am I going to lift my leg and take that step?
Am I to ignore the thoughts?
Am I stronger than I let myself think?'

I lift my leg.

Upwards and onwards, I guess.

do you know how it feels
to be like me-
to lie and fight the wrongness
of your skin and bones
to feel fake
like an alien inhabiting your own shell
like a square peg in a round hole.
your face is a mask,
your name, a false label.
the most devastating betrayal is
the betrayal of your voice.
other parts feel empty, missing,
broken, burdensome, weak.
an inextinguishable sadness
lingers in your veins-
just enough to sting.

do you know how it feels?

i think you do

you are a human
your body is also a
prison

the fear of the future,
devours me
it eats me whole,
and shows me no mercy

I lie awake at night,
the moonlight softly showing
through my blinds,
and am stirred by the thought
of the future

when I come out to my family,
what will happen?

will they try to beat it out of me,
will they kick me to the curb,
or will they stand by my side,
waving a flag in pride?

what will the future hold?

I tried to write a poem
about how I felt
but
the paper just stayed empty because

how do you write out
the sudden realization
that because you trusted and told a secret
a friend will never look at you the same

how do you write out
your screams when
he lays his cold hands
on your body

how do you write out
the red of your skin
after trying to
scrub his touch off

how do you write out
the sound of her voice
when she laughs and
calls your name

how do you write out
the taste of your tears
when your parents say
you’ll always be a girl

how do you write out
loneliness and watching
your two friends talk and laugh
while you just sit quietly

how do you write out
jealousy and regret
when you see how little
everyone cares

I don’t know how
to write this poem
I guess I’m just not
a good poet.

Her shoes are lost,
one in the closet, one out of the door,
one step to freedom before her parents
pick them up and throws them,
oblivious to the bang when they hit the wall.

BANG;
the knocking of adolescent hands,
on the closet door.

BANG;
the knocking that fell on deaf ears,
when the tears and pleas weren't sufficient.

BANG;
the children that want a chance at living their lives
in the warm embrace of their parents
arms,

and not in the warm embrace
of the fire;

burning their coffin to the ground.

i feel like i cant breathe
most of the time

maybe its the tight binder
on my ribs
maybe its the suffocating thoughts
that tell me im not good enough
maybe its all the stares
that i know are questioning my gender

i wish i could tell you it gets easier
every time someone calls me a girl
when im wearing all mens clothes, a binder, and short hair
but it doesnt
it gets worse

so much worse

no matter the effort i put in
how hard i try
to present as masculine as possible
at the point where i cant even
see anything feminine about myself anymore

im always seen as the thing
that will always break me down

sometimes i think
it would be easier to take it all back
say im a girl and dress like one
at least then
ill be seen as how im trying to

ill hide behind a mask
say im something that im not

because arent i doing that already?
saying im okay and that it doesnt matter
when someone calls me a girl?
putting on  fake smile
and act like it doesnt feel
like someone took my spirit
and covered it
with the wrong color paint

i feel like i shouldnt be myself
most of the time

I am not at fault.
I didn't do anything wrong.
Why am I being treated as though I did?

Stop it with the pity and the shame.
I am not ashamed. I don't need pity.
Especially not yours.

Life is messed up, but I am not.

One in five. one in five. ONE IN FIVE
One in five LGBTQ+ people have been mistreated because of their ****** orientation. It's not that hard to find these statistics. Look it up. Look up anything about LGBTQ+ people and I'm sure you'll find mistreatment.
I'm sure you'll find harm.
I'm sure you'll find that they harm themselves.
Because they feel at fault.
It's not their fault that they feel a common emotion towards another person you, selfish, close-minded..
mmm.

No.
Four in five. four in five. FOUR IN FIVE
Don't talk about it.
The way they were mistreated.
If you don't really get that
If you can't  really fathom that
Almost all of them
Almost every single one of these people that have been mistreated don't even talk about it they don't reach out they don't tell
anyone

NEARLY HALF
of LGBTQ+ people in school are bullied
Are mistreated
Are hurt
Are mocked
Are called names
***
******
***.
In school.
Yeah, bullying happens all the time over stupid ****. All the time. Wearing glasses, looking different, being gay.
I get it.
It happens.
Whatever.
Nearly half.

"72 countries criminalise same-*** relationships ...
The death penalty is either ‘allowed’, or evidence of its existence occurs, in 8 countries
In more than half the world, LGBT people may not be protected from discrimination by workplace law
Most governments deny trans people the right to legally change their name and gender from those that were assigned to them at birth
Between 2008 and 2014, there were 1,612 trans people were murdered across 62 countries - equivalent to a killing every two days
A quarter of the world’s population believes that being LGBT should be a crime"

Oh hey, just some statistics. Isn't that interesting. Isn't it cool to take a step back and check that out. That's pretty crazy huh? Pretty outrageous. But, you know, maybe if you weren't such a
***.

I did nothing
wrong.
I tried to stop it.
I tried.
But how can you stop
Doing
What
Is
Natural.

People are hurting
People are dying
People are being killed
People are killing themselves

Stop it with the pity and the shame.

We are not to blame.