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Kit Scott Feb 2021
the daughter of my mother
sleeps inside my chest.
murmurs in her sleep
"i could do it better, i could be loved for it"

                      my mother loves her daughter.

it's hard, letting her go
my home of many years
no matter how uncomfortable the bed was
how cold the rooms
i lived in her
was loved in her

sometimes i take her out
drag her out of my soul like old laundry
like nostalgia, like a party dress
i slip, quietly, into her skin
wear her face, her family.
she doesn't fit right.

the daughter of my mother
is coated in broken glass on the inside
but as her
i can do it better, i can be loved for it

                      my mother loves her daughter.
E Jul 2020
when i look at you
it fills the despondent void
of what i didn't have

when i look at you
it fills space to love harder
needed from the past

when i look at you
i am full of happiness
no longer helpless

when i look at you
there's a kid celebrating
those victories fought

he is a spirit
who goes to rest knowingly
that you avenged him
Tried haiku like poems. definitely was a battle. I'm referencing my ability to smile. I often obsess over pictures of myself being happy and I've realized it's because there has never been a chance in my childhood to be myself, authentically and unapologetically. When I embrace my happiness, it's to fill the voids of unacceptance, and never feeling adequate as a kid. I recognize both behaviors, but as I grow closer to adulthood, it's something to think about.
E Jul 2020
never thought you'd be mine
here i am pulling on your strings
playing your melodies
while the texture plays me a memory

a lost boy running for his life
in the forest overrun
clones of himself can't escape
for he is his own greatest enemy

a boy with no features
no features of a boy
or what society deems
a boy with hairless skin
and effeminate lips
a boy with no regard to how high
the decibels of his voice was
a boy who ran on his feet while withering his chest
a boy who couldn't always take in deep breaths
a boy who chose how big or how small he wanted to show the world his ***** was
a boy who didn't exactly fit the narrative
a boy nonetheless

but is it now that i am a man?
is it now that when i touch the hair on my face, it makes me he?
is it the voice i desperately tried to craft? or is it my piece of clothing that binds the skin, and bone of my body?
is it my shoes and how they're bigger and longer? maybe it's my laugh and smile that gives it away.
maybe it's nothing at all.
and i'm deemed a man for a selfish binary who doesn't care about my traumatic experiences being hunted by my own mind.

she is blind to her crashing disaster.
she'll grant me with an immunity called privilege.
immunity from being recognized as a woman, and being treated as such by code.

but at least my ****** hair is tangible.
I was caressing my ****** hair and noticed it's getting really thick and coarse. Had to write about it because it's so odd knowing a version before the present me didn't have it, in this exact moment. It feels familiar yet so, foreign. It makes me question why ****** hair or anything deemed masculine is even masculine to begin with. Where did the labels come from? "at least my ****** hair is tangible" is to show, the system in which we uphold labels and micro labels can potentially be harmful, and in my case it is, but as an outcome I got something.
Kit Scott May 2020
I dream of taking my shirt off
A fantasy of skin and scars
Of baring my chest to the sun
Of muscle and fat and hair
And all the grossest parts of the human form
I want them to be mine
For this body to be mine
I fantasize of stripping naked
In the privacy of my own room
To look in the mirror and see
A familiar face, a familiar body
Just to see, just to look
Delight unfurls in my heart
Just to know, now, that I belong to myself
That my own bared flesh no longer causes me pain
That my own bareness is no longer a shame
I deal with dysphoria by forcing a disconnect between my mind and my body. I feel like a stranger to myself. This face isn't mine.
Flint Holcomb Apr 2020
The heat is becoming unbearable.
[average repair cost $488]
I'm manually cranking the window
[1998 Chevy S-10]
While Dad drives me to the store.

I'm craving Nutella
[Great Value Hazelnut Spread]
And pomegranates seeds.
[only one container without mold]
I hope Mom doesn't mind the price.

Turning 22 this year;
[also a model from 1998]
I hope to start on Testosterone
And maybe learn to drive
This was written in January 2020.
Karisa Brown Jan 2020
Her hair waved
With passionate oversight
She dawned
Every time she whipped it and
It grew light
She was a princess
But then
She cut it.

And found those
Words were
People's idea of what
She thought she was
Then when she was ready
She cut it again and said
I am a transman
And the weight got lifted
His aura changed.

People got scared
But guess what
His smile got bigger
Cuz he didn't care.

And his body felt
Light and tingly
Every time he thought
Of himself as a man
With that question gone
he didn't ever have to
Say I'm sorry again.

He grew confident and proud
That he had grown into his skin!
Yay me!!!
You go boy!!!
Casey Sep 2019
Prompt: Explain the story behind a picture from your camera roll
(date of picture taken: August 30th, 2019)

The picture is a simple mirror selfie, but the story has more to do with what I was wearing.
Earlier that day, I went to the mall to shop for my homecoming outfit with
my friend, (REDACTED).
It seems trivial to someone else, I guess, but to me, it was a big deal.
It was because I could drive and because we were at the mall against
my dad's wishes that added to my nervousness of it all.
I went to the boy's section of the clothing store because I'm really short,
and (REDACTED) helped me pick out a suit.
My first suit.
Just wearing the suit jacket, I couldn't help but smile like an idiot.
It was so....right.
I don't know how else to explain it.
It was as if all those little pieces just fell into place and everything felt
all right.
For once, everything in that moment felt good and perfect.
I didn't care about the curious looks from the middle-aged moms.
I felt....euphoric?
Gender euphoria.
Ray Ross Aug 2019
My body and soul are not synonymous.
When I look at my body,
I still refer to it as she,
I stare into the mirror,
And she looks back at me.
You can regret her but please
Don't forget her.
We'll never be those kids again.
I can't wait to be someone else again.
I'm an anomaly, a shapeshifter.
Flint Holcomb Apr 2019
A floral mat
Separates me from
The tile floor
I feel anxious despite the peace

The instructor speaks
My heart stops
Because I know
The chest binder can’t hold
Through another downward-facing dog
you shouldn’t really wear a binder when doing yoga but i would rather not exercise that do it without a binder
Flint Holcomb Apr 2019
The weight on my chest
Excessive flesh
A distinctive sign
Separating me
From the other men in the room
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