forty-eight hours is a long time to wear a binder,
and my ribs are screaming for mercy,
for a break from the compression and lack of mobility.
but it's not that easy.

sometimes i'd rather face the pain,
than face the fact that i am female.
these weights on my chest,
drag me to the ground.
i break down.

i feel locked in my body,
and all i want to do is break free.
nobody should feel the need to shower in the dark,
because the reality of their body is too much for them.
it shouldn't be this way

and i know i shouldn't compare myself to people,
but i cannot stop thinking,
'what if i were cis'.
i think of how much easier everything would be.
i wouldn't have to worry over how long i've been wearing my binder,
or if i pass,

i wouldn't have to worry about turning eighteen,
knowing i will be homeless.
but instead, my mother would celebrate her baby,
becoming a "legal adult."

forty-eight hours wouldn't be a worrying statement,
just another frame of time,
it wouldn't reflect on my self-care routines,
or lack thereof

it'd just be forty-eight hours.

this feeling is of a pendulum swinging
side                           to                         side
as if it cannot seem to make up it's mind.
the feeling tends to contradict itself by                                  

dreaming of
self discovery                  
                                       and longing for
                                       self destruction.

thought of not understanding it's truth
has been locked up in the             back
simply because never knowing why is
                                                                    .
                                                                            
                                                                     .
                                                                              
                                                                      .

"I don't want to burn her"
the sun called out to her love
so she just watched the moon as she rose
with a sense of fear and longing
for all she ever wanted was the moon

"why won't she look at me"
the moon questioned her light
because the sun no longer looked at her
with love that burned so bright
she now looks at her in fear

there are rarely times i feel
put together
but even in those times
im ready to  f
                          a
                             l
                                 l
                                     apart.
                                    
just one small touch and im gone
in p  i  e  c  e  s on the floor once again
waiting to gather the energy
that i need to put myself together.

-letters
a character representing one or more of the sounds used in speech

these no longer fit together to form the words i need to talk to you

-words
a single distinct meaningful element of speech or writing, used with other words to form a sentence

these seemingly simple elements of speech don't seem to work together to become the sentences i want to say to you

-sentences
a set of words that is complete in itself

i look at you and suddenly my mind is no longer capable of putting together the sentences i long to give you