Hello Poetry
Submit your work and get some sparkles! Create free account
#genderfluid
I'm hardly a boy, yet I'm hardly a girl Fooling around, figuring out what to do Meandering so, can't save you now! Face your problems, with the brave of a shrew. There's nothing left to look forward to You've beat the game, what more do you want to do? The curtains sway As you give a bow Shutting you out From the audience, who, Applaud as you grin While the curtains are due Leaving you on the stage that you grew on
0
6d ago
May 28, 2026 at 5:05 PM UTC
scatterbrain
I want to be a boy So I cut off most of my hair I want to be a boy So I change the clothes I wear I want to be a boy So I drop my voice down low I want to be a boy So I hide the things I show I want to be a boy So I walk a different way I want to be a boy So I practice what to say I am a boy But when people pass me by They say “hey girl, you got pretty blue eyes”
0
Apr 18
Apr 18, 2026 at 4:45 PM UTC
What they say anyway
Друг другу дрочили мальчики, Девоньки мыли уши, И по трубам водоканальчика, Согревались в зимнюю стужу. Стекались к морю, дурачились, По столу стучали стаканчики, Вот это мы расхуячились, ЕбАные барабанщики. 👉 Bloch-Bauer & Adele · 2020 · Signature Privée
0
Aug 1, 2025
Aug 1, 2025 at 9:18 PM UTC
♠️ Друг другу дрочили мальчики
At my bed Asleep Bleeding to my feet Before I spoke I looked into my reflection In my eyes I see no recollection Who am I Will I be loved Could I possibly believe they’ll never leave Craving the soft gentle kiss Something I could never give I crave an understanding of who I am What I am Without explanation Without expectations I fear I am too much for femininity Although I seem to enjoy being a feminist Always said it was just a dream To be loved without comparison To be seen without looking the other way To be accepted with questions To be curious of what I have yet to discover Until then i’m lost
0
Feb 1, 2025
Feb 1, 2025 at 2:03 AM UTC
Androgyny within curiosity
As I feel like a man, every emotion is slower and is more potent. As I feel like a man, everything changed. As I feel like a man, I feel the responsibilities of being a man. As I feel like a man, I feel content yet I also feel a pain in my ribs. As I feel like a man, I feel euphoric. As I feel like a man, everything is new yet I feel like that feeling have always been with me. As I feel like a man, I can finally describe the peace I feel when one of my friends wants to know more about my pronouns and what I prefer. I am keeping my full name. Considering I am a gender fluid woman I am keeping both parts of me: My feminine body and my masculine heart.
0
Mar 6, 2024
Mar 6, 2024 at 10:34 PM UTC
As I feel like a man
As I feel like a woman, every emotion rushing towards me. As I feel like a woman, nothing changed. As I feel like a woman, I feel the responsibilities of being a woman. As I feel like a woman, I feel content yet I also feel a pain in my chest. As I feel like a woman, I can feel people staring at me wondering what gender I am. As I feel like a woman, I know what people expect of me and I dress like a tomboy. Which they don't expect.
0
Mar 5, 2024
Mar 5, 2024 at 3:08 PM UTC
As I feel like a woman
I have always felt different in a lonely way. My church friends will never understand me or accept me. I don't know why I keep going to church. I guess it is a habit. A habit that appeases my mom but not me. The moment I walk into church it is like I am on autopilot. It is as though I am looking into someone else's life not mine. I know I grew up in that church but it doesn't feel like me anymore. I know what my church friends expect of me but I know I am not like them. I am this boyish looking girl that is proud of who they are as a person. My religion doesn't define me. I define me.
0
Mar 4, 2024
Mar 4, 2024 at 6:52 PM UTC
Tomboy to Boy pt 3
I have a small support system now but I feel amazing. I don't have to hide who I am around my dad, little sister and older brother because they accept me for who I am. Tomboy to Boy, one small step at a time I am becoming more me. Tomboy to Boy, I am a gender fluid woman who is going to take down the gender norms through masculine fashion. Sure people are already confused what gender I am already and when people think I am a guy it makes me happy. Tomboy to Boy, I am free.
0
Mar 1, 2024
Mar 1, 2024 at 10:13 AM UTC
Tomboy to Boy pt 2
I am a gender fluid woman. I normally dress like a tomboy. Most of the time I feel like a guy. The thing is I don't know how to explain the lonely different feeling. The times I feel like a girl are weddings and classy church events. I am like a grandfather clock, the pendulum swings from one side to next but time goes by. All my life this lonely different feeling have haunted me. The thing is I am not alone anymore. When I was on cross country in high school I was only tomboy girl on the cross country team. The rest of the girls dressed feminine and really girly. I hung out with the guys on the guys cross country team growing up. I didn't like the segregation of guys and girls. It confused me, the segregation of guys and girls. I have always felt like one of the guys. I have very few friends that are girls. The rest of my friends are guys. All my life I have myself the question, "What the hell is wrong with me?" Now I know there is nothing wrong with me. I was just trapped in this heteronormative way of thinking for so long but never conformed to it because not only I am bisexual but I am gender fluid too. Gender isn't a straight line divided through the middle but a pendulum swinging from one side to the next as time ticks by. I am not the only gender fluid in the world. And I refuse to conform to society's choose one gender way of the thinking. Gender isn't black and white thinking. Gender is multiple shades of gray.
0
Feb 29, 2024
Feb 29, 2024 at 6:29 PM UTC
Tomboy to Boy
I don't always feel like a woman. I look like a woman but I don't always feel like one. Some days I am a woman. Other days I am a man. My body doesn't change but how I feel does. Some days I am both man and woman. I feel this way all the time. I realize all those times I grew up with panic attacks. I was panicking about how I was expressing my gender not about my homework. I am a gender fluid, bisexual woman. I am not afraid to admit it now.
0
Feb 15, 2024
Feb 15, 2024 at 12:00 PM UTC
Genderfluid
I'm crying for a girl who never existed. One who failed but always persisted, to try and figure out what makes one woman. these thoughts about gender felt like a shout, but this 'girl' was still figuring it out. Now this person mourns the loss, of this gender that felt like an albatross.
0
May 12, 2022
May 12, 2022 at 6:59 PM UTC
Gender
Long hair Long brown hair Long soft brow hair Blue eyes Blue soft eyes Blue sad eyes Pretty dress Pink pretty dress Flowery pink pretty dress A chest A chest so full A chest so beautifl Scissors Scissors on pretty long har chop, Chop, CHOP Blue eyes Teary blue eyes Relived blue eyes A hoodie A hoodie and black jeans Black ripped jeans and a band T A chest A chest in pain Chest wrapped flat to body she, She, SHE Thats what they see They will never see their son
0
Dec 7, 2021
Dec 7, 2021 at 5:32 PM UTC
He
You cannot frame the oceans waves. Forever changing, vibrant blue -- ever-changing into deeper shades of understanding. A never changing struggle between the sand and the water. I am the ocean -- blue.
0
May 12, 2021
May 12, 2021 at 3:58 PM UTC
GenderFluid
How am I supposed to react When inside my own body I feel so trapped I'm expected to be what I present But that doesn't reflect me And this person you see, I've began to resent Her pronouns don't feel like mine And they haven't for a while But changing them has helped over time Sometimes it feels okay Others I can't take it Because how I feel changes day to day The girl you see who wears the skirts Who wears makeup to be confident Isn't a girl at all, and feels like dirt When you call me beautiful I don't know how to feel It feels so unusual My body doesn't feel like mine It belongs to a woman If it didn't maybe I'd feel fine My clothes don't reflect me Neither does my makeup This isn't who I want to be I'm scared I'll never look neutral Maybe you'll always see a girl It just feels so brutal The person you raised Isn't who I grew into I'm a new person today I've never came out But it's because I'm still so unsure And if I told you you'd feel doubt You raised a girl Not someone doesn't feel right A child who'd grow to wear dresses and pearls I was always your princess Never your prince or neither But I've never felt secure in a dress I'll never feel feminine Not how you perceive it But how I feel it is relevant The tiara never fit my head quite right And the long hair felt wrong I wish I could change overnight One day you'll know I'll explain it all to you But until then, I'll continue to grow
0
Apr 11, 2021
Apr 11, 2021 at 4:14 PM UTC
~ double sided mirror ~
You tell me I'm one thing, But really you're just afraid that I'm something Undefinable. You believe everyone is one or the other, But whats the beauty in that? Maybe one day I'm 'They' The next I'm 'She' Then the day after I'm 'He' Don't suppress me for being Everything. Nothing. And Me.
0
Feb 14, 2021
Feb 14, 2021 at 3:22 PM UTC
Undefinable
What I thought would be easy Turned out to be a trial. I lay curled up feeling queasy. Frustration, anger. A strong stance. Is it denial in their faces? Am I to give another chance? But as I gaze into your eyes Those soft, warm orbs bring light, A fresh breath. I realise. I shall conform no more That young girl is gone, This will not be like before. Dead is the binary The girl in the mirror, gone. Now I see myself. Finally. Societal chains bear me down Some days I give in. Allow myself to drown In your norms Your dead ways. This strange form Will never fit in, I quickly realise No matter the colour of skin. Yet I gaze in the mirror, I see myself, finally. The world looks clearer.
0
Dec 24, 2020
Dec 24, 2020 at 11:44 AM UTC
Finally
I know my face is feminine I know everyone 'knows' I'm a girl I know in this confusing christian society You have to keep to the binary And so I don't expect them To look at me And say "He" But just once Maybe they'll hesitate Before saying "She"
0
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 11:27 AM UTC
Genderfluid (not female)
I wrote a poem into the wind Improvisational melody And promptly forgot it I think the wind kept it
0
Nov 26, 2020
Nov 26, 2020 at 11:19 AM UTC
A windy day
Bedroom’s painted fisherman’s blue There’s a cut out of Hayden Panettiere naked in a pink bikini with a hula-hoop on the back of the door Copies of British Vogue desperately hidden underneath the bed accompanying an empty bottle of Glen’s Manchester United duvet cover and matching pillows to boot The bin’s filled with pre-packed home-made lunches from the last six months Wardrobes a collection of ill fitting blue jeans bought for me by grandmother and football jerseys for teams that I’ve never even heard of, yet let alone see play a single game Uniform ironed and sitting out ready for school on Monday at 8am sharp ***** clothes cover mostly all the floor smelling of Lynx’s finest even though there’s an empty laundry basket just waiting in the corner to be used Inside one of the woolen blazer’s (that is way too big for me) pockets a single unopened ****** and an AES 256-bit encrypted USB stick An old PlayStation 2, with a single controller; games including FIFA years through 2004 to now, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell, and GTA. Blood red shoplifted lipstick that’s now melted hidden in the little secret compartment at the back, meant for network expansion. Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Harry Potter all adorn the bookcase Physics, Maths, and IT textbooks remain firmly closed on the desk in addition to a smashed phone from me and Daddy’s last “physical altercation” Lady Gaga’s “I Like it Rough” is playing in the background on repeat…
0
Aug 23, 2020
Aug 23, 2020 at 2:43 PM UTC
~2009
Bedroom’s painted fisherman’s blue There’s a cut out of Hayden Panettiere naked in a pink bikini with a hula-hoop on the back of the door Copies of British Vogue desperately hidden underneath the bed accompanying an empty bottle of Glen’s Manchester United duvet cover and matching pillows to boot The bin’s filled with pre-packed home-made lunches from the last six months Wardrobes a collection of ill fitting blue jeans bought for me by grandmother and football jerseys for teams that I’ve never even heard of, yet let alone see play a single game Uniform ironed and sitting out ready for school on Monday at 8am sharp ***** clothes cover mostly all the floor smelling of Lynx’s finest even though there’s an empty laundry basket just waiting in the corner to be used Inside one of the woolen blazer’s (that is way too big for me) pockets a single unopened ****** and an AES 256-bit encrypted USB stick An old PlayStation 2, with a single controller; games including FIFA years through 2004 to now, Tom Clancy’s Splinter Cell, and GTA. Blood red shoplifted lipstick that’s now melted hidden in the little secret compartment at the back, meant for network expansion. Artemis Fowl, Alex Rider, and Harry Potter all adorn the bookcase Physics, Maths, and IT textbooks remain firmly closed on the desk in addition to a smashed phone from me and Daddy’s last “physical altercation” Lady Gaga’s “I Like it Rough” is playing in the background on repeat…
Continue reading...
14
My gender can change at the flip of a switch They say it's impossible They say it's just a glitch They ask if I'm male, female or non-binary I'm all three I'll tell them finally that's when They start to frown and look at me like I'm a clown "you can't have all three you must choose one!" "the science doesn't support it, *** how do you explain it then when my gender decides to flip again when I go from someone who loves herself to someone who can't look at himself when I can't stand to be either gender I refuse to stand by and be a pretender Is it too much to ask for you to respect me? To let me be myself, to let me be free? To ask me what my pronouns are when you see me at a bar? my gender is mine you will not correct it you will not make me feel like a misfit because I know who I am, what I am there is no right answer to this exam my gender is fluid don't act like you're clueless because I don't fit in a neat little box I don't care if you think its a paradox because you don't get a say in who I am today I'm not nonbinary I'm not trans I'm fluid
0
Jul 4, 2020
Jul 4, 2020 at 6:13 PM UTC
I’m fluid
***** and Quims should be worshiped. For whichever you have, dictates how the rest of your life shall be. To those who biologically have both, how like gods you seem to me. To those who spiritually have both, what cursed and barren, in-between lands stock we.
0
May 10, 2020
May 10, 2020 at 10:14 PM UTC
Of ***** and Quims
Dress, makeup Heels, leggings Feminine Too-big pants, no makeup Oversized shirt, men's shoes Masculine Regular jeans, little makeup Sweater, tennis shoes No gender Fancy shirt, tie Skirt, heels All gender All these But I'm Still me And that's okay
0
Apr 29, 2020
Apr 29, 2020 at 7:54 PM UTC
Gender
Oversized clothes Dresses galore Both of them Fit to one gender Sports jerseys Baggy shorts I want those but I'm a "girl" Perky dresses Lots of makeup I'm told I must Because I'm a "girl" Anxiety fills me up I need to be perfect I need to be a daughter I need to be a girlfriend a wife a mother Why can't I be a child? A lover? A ren? A human? Why do you have to choose for me?
0
Apr 21, 2020
Apr 21, 2020 at 7:22 PM UTC
"Girl"
Reassignment: Verses in Fragments i. awake Piercing, ruthless -- no maybe relentless is better. Awakening from a grasp so harsh, tethered to icy ****** of expectations. Words of coercion and malice ring, slamming like thunder, fluid with heterodoxy: you're an it huh? look at him -- it's a him you wanna be right? Laughs, indecent and rioting, and that ruthless charade of orthodox behavior hurt him. Hurt them. Awake to who they were. Hard to grasp, terrifying yo admit, punching the ticket to their own match. Tears stretched past the brims of swollen eyes, enduring each hurled assault of syllables -- how do I stop it? ii. begin Refuge in a screen, in the safety net of a bridge reality. Asylum found in the hands of similar misfits. The insults of it from verse i. -- it? Heard so many times perhaps it had been a level hard to be clear of. Bubbling and morbidly sticky at the surface of their own secret. Hands clutched to their skirt on Sunday for church, hands digging into the flesh of their thighs on a Saturday night. Under the escape of another human -- another person not from the retrospective circle of heterodoxy that suffocated them. iii. epiphany Saccharine puffs of fingertips bloomed on the bridged hips. Tears or resentment upon discovering the geography of an anatomy assigned without intervention. The revelation of gestured dreams, honey coated and dripped in the cloak of youth, cinched with the bodice of their crippling environment. What are you? -- Asked over and over, trying to present for a world of alienated oddities and and disorders. Clutch again. Fingers deeply dug into the hems of their skirts, in the fabrics of hidden flannels and binders wrapped in secret around the channel of their chest. Fluid. Changing. Unsure spoken in response. iv. shadow Hide behind the familiarity of cyclonic and disposed love and consciousness. Stumbling winds and scraped egos are less than transparent, seemingly an impossibility among the issues they feel. The dark cloak embodies the identity, the presentation and realization of being trapped. Monitoring the standards that wouldn't categorize them as the genuine way they see themselves, presentation the frugal decoration they dangle to the orthodoxy of society to stay hidden. v. persona Fingertips fidgeting with the sirens of noise, laughs and loud voices fill halls, centers. They weren't meant for this, meant to be so forced into the social structure that terrifies them. Pads of scarred flesh rooting from the bottom up, eyes glimpsing the possibility of others around them. Those saccharine touches of loathing and the journey for love and acceptance remains fragmented, continuous, and fluid.
0
Jan 21, 2020
Jan 21, 2020 at 12:05 AM UTC
Reassignment: In Verses
Reassignment: Verses in Fragments i. awake Piercing, ruthless -- no maybe relentless is better. Awakening from a grasp so harsh, tethered to icy ****** of expectations. Words of coercion and malice ring, slamming like thunder, fluid with heterodoxy: you're an it huh? look at him -- it's a him you wanna be right? Laughs, indecent and rioting, and that ruthless charade of orthodox behavior hurt him. Hurt them. Awake to who they were. Hard to grasp, terrifying yo admit, punching the ticket to their own match. Tears stretched past the brims of swollen eyes, enduring each hurled assault of syllables -- how do I stop it? ii. begin Refuge in a screen, in the safety net of a bridge reality. Asylum found in the hands of similar misfits. The insults of it from verse i. -- it? Heard so many times perhaps it had been a level hard to be clear of. Bubbling and morbidly sticky at the surface of their own secret. Hands clutched to their skirt on Sunday for church, hands digging into the flesh of their thighs on a Saturday night. Under the escape of another human -- another person not from the retrospective circle of heterodoxy that suffocated them. iii. epiphany Saccharine puffs of fingertips bloomed on the bridged hips. Tears or resentment upon discovering the geography of an anatomy assigned without intervention. The revelation of gestured dreams, honey coated and dripped in the cloak of youth, cinched with the bodice of their crippling environment. What are you? -- Asked over and over, trying to present for a world of alienated oddities and and disorders. Clutch again. Fingers deeply dug into the hems of their skirts, in the fabrics of hidden flannels and binders wrapped in secret around the channel of their chest. Fluid. Changing. Unsure spoken in response. iv. shadow Hide behind the familiarity of cyclonic and disposed love and consciousness. Stumbling winds and scraped egos are less than transparent, seemingly an impossibility among the issues they feel. The dark cloak embodies the identity, the presentation and realization of being trapped. Monitoring the standards that wouldn't categorize them as the genuine way they see themselves, presentation the frugal decoration they dangle to the orthodoxy of society to stay hidden. v. persona Fingertips fidgeting with the sirens of noise, laughs and loud voices fill halls, centers. They weren't meant for this, meant to be so forced into the social structure that terrifies them. Pads of scarred flesh rooting from the bottom up, eyes glimpsing the possibility of others around them. Those saccharine touches of loathing and the journey for love and acceptance remains fragmented, continuous, and fluid.
Continue reading...
22