My body was made to love yours, I know that's such a cheesy cliche but baby. When your bodys pressed against mine its like a holy matrimony. Id testify to be able to prove how my heart races like it will never get another chance to beat, as if I am something to pass the time with.. if I add the extra cheesy cliched thing to say it'd simply be I want to spend forever proving my love for you not just your body which is my holy grail I will bow down to and worship every night if you'd like. But also I cant get you out of my head like that really annoying song you cant help but sing, yeah that one but this melody is not annoying at all. My heart beats the rythm and my body the lyrics and every word that fumbles out of my jaw clenched mouth is an ode to how perfect I think you are. And that's not to say you don't have flaws and that I don't aknowledge how I see you struggle with those beasts that have you in their grip, but I promise to be that knight in shining armor and chase them away for as long as I can. I'm sorry but loving you in cliche is the only way I know how to love, but I'm learning.

It's the voice in the back of your head
It's the feeling of yourself in the shower
It's the clothes that line your curves to well
It's the stare of all those around you

It's the screaming of the wind
It's the force if the tornado
It's the hail from the cold skies
It's the wave of the tsunami
It's everything crashing down on you at once

It is hell's demons here to plague you personally

Dear mother,
You say you feel hurt by what I have done.
You say that my issues are affecting you.
But dear mother,
Do you not know where these issues come from?
I think you do, but your ego is too high for you to climb off it.
Dear mother
You say you love me,
But then you never show me.
I get guilt trips and tounge lashings.
You control every aspect of who I am.
You say I'm not valid.
You reject my love,
No matter how I explain it.
The things you make me do to make myself fit into your smal margine of "exceptable" make me sick to the stomach.
Dear mother,
Don't you know that when you get in my face about how I'm a girl and that's just the way it is and it won't ever change, just because I said I'm not a girly girl
Don't you know how much that ******* hurts?
You tear apart every aspect of myself and then wonder why I'm not perfectly put together.
Dear mother
When you get mad at me for being me. You're not keeping a daughter, you lost her long ago but you were too busy with yourself to notice.
But now you're not gaining a new child in her place.
You made sure if that.
Dear mother
Why do I try and do things my way?
I don't know, maybe because you abondond us and I had to fill your shoes.
I grew up by the age of 12.
I have had enough time to learn how things work for me, yet you insist on your way only.
And I'm a failure if I do it any way but yours.
Dear mother
You say you know everything about me.
But do you know about the nights spent crying,
The lunches spent hiding,
Or my head throbbing?
Do you know how dysphoria racks through my entire being, killing me a bit more everyday.
How about the things I write, or the thoughts in my mind slyly trying to turn me to their side.
Dear mother
Do you know that wasn't my only try?
That was only the one that would have worked.
I tried to reach out but you only swept me under the rug and then stomped on it.
Dear mother
I am aware of my chance at a new start in Sweden,
But dear mother do you realize you are the one stopping me from that.

It is all in my mind.
I know you don't feel the same things as I.
But does that make it any less real?
Does it make me insane?
Oh and by the way, you my call me Nathan today.
That you don't understand me or my thoughts, the way my mind works.
Is that reason enough to call me insane?
Because yesterday I was a girl and today a boy?
Is not fitting in the binary system reason enough to tell me that I am crazy, wierd, insane?
That you don't understand, don't feel the same should not mean that you can judge me. Can't it?

1.
My head itches with lice
that **** on my XY blood
and with each pierce of the scalp
anchor down the long strands of hair
that cascade down my back and fall
in my face and betray my boy-like
interior.

2.
I watch you and how you know who you are,
as you talk of hormone therapy and chest binders
or bras and wigs and make-up and dresses, and I
begin to cry because you know who you are,
even if the rest of the world does not.

3.
I want to cut my hair,
but I'm afraid my face is just too ugly
to have locks that fall to my ears,
that even short hair won't solve my problems,
won't have the cashier at the drug store call me
"sir".

4.
I'm scared of surgeries,
surgeries that would leave faint scars
beneath my *******, and allow me to walk
down a beach in trunk and a bare toned chest.
I have my binder but I will never be completely flat.

5.
I think the reason I am so scared
of cutting away the girl in me
is because I do not know
if there is really a boy inside.