Said the little boy, "Sometimes I drop my spoon."
Said the old man, "I do that too."
The little boy whispered, "I wet my pants."
"I do that too," laughed the little old man.
Said the little boy, "I often cry."
The old man nodded, "So do I."
"But worst of all," said the boy, "it seems
Grown-ups don't pay attention to me."
And he felt the warmth of a wrinkled old hand.
"I know what you mean," said the little old man.

I am not an "it",
Not a "what" but a "who".
You look but you don't see me.
I am here, so where are you?

Ev'ry time you call me "girl"
It stabs me in the heart,
You twist the knife with "daughter"
And refuse to play your part.

I wonder, if I died tomorrow
What would my fun'ral be?
Into the earth I'd wear a dress
And bare a mask of "she".

My body is my strangled tomb
And, you, my epitaph:
"Here lies a sister, daughter, friend."
But I lie split in half.

Ev'ry time you call me "daughter",
Ev'ry time you call me "she"
Holds a venomous reception
In the darkest parts of me.

You say that it gets better.
Just a phase and nothing more.
I don't know how you can say that
With my heart spilt on the floor.

Walk o'er my bones in high-heeled shoes,
Kiss my pale skin with blood,
You ***** me with names of she
And wash me in pink mud.

I'm smothered with assumptions
And I'm drowned in prejudice,
A balloon fills up inside me
With ev'ry uttered word of "miss".

So if you wish to watch me die,
Melt away and o'er again,
Then tie me to the threads of girls
And taunt me with ropes of men.

He writes boy on his leg
Etching the letters the world won't understand
Wishing the felt tip pen could
Break the gravestones on his chest
And fill the valley between his legs

He writes boy on his leg
It's a word kept secret in fear
He's a mustang learning his legs
And the world is a pack of vicious wolves
They don't know what to call him
Only he does

He writes boy on his leg
Takes a picture and sends it to the one he knows understands
The flash against his pale skin stark and bright
Like sleepy eyes against fresh snow

He writes boy on his skin
Because he can't write it anywhere else

It's funny seeing us all turn into the same person,
The same taste in music,
The same fashion sense,
The same events attract us,
The same mediums refract us,
Our skin is inked with the same tattoo over and over and over again,
Our hair is clipped to flow in the same wave that each ocean moves,
Our voices all make the same noise because we all say the same thing,
Our camera lenses are always pointed in the same direction and we all take the same photo over and over and over again,
We all feel the same high because we all use the same drugs,
We all have the same house, the same car, and the same salary only because we all have the same jobs,
We all like the same people because we are all the same,
There are no rebellious truants because we all rebel In the same way,
Our hair is but one shade one pigment,
That compliments the same shirt, the same make-up that we all wear,
We all wear the same sizes and have the same bodies because we all eat the same thing,
We all make the same jokes because we all watch the same shows.

Deafened by a similar silence,
We reach for peace through violence,
Similarly hurting one another while similarly trying to heal our brother,
All carbon-copies of an image displayed and projected from the Great Wall of China to The Grand Canyon,
And it's probably because we are all the same species
No need for discrimination because we are all the same, pathetic animal,
Grooving to the same funky tune,
In the same sunny meadow,
We are all one herd of buffalo,
One congress of baboons,
One flamboyance of flamingos,
One army of caterpillars,
One tower of giraffes,
One school of fish,
One heart,
And one
One love....

But maybe
Just maybe
If we all are part of one love,
Then that means we unify to create only one part of a relationship,
One half of a house,
And only one side of the family....

It's as if
Uniting and grouping closer together,
It just makes us crumble apart..

Born with a scorn
For the body adorned
With ribbons and bows
And told, "How she glows!"
"I am not a girl,"
He boldly tells the world.

Born with a feeling forlorn,
Feeling emotionally torn--
If I am a boy,
Why am I annoyed
When told not to dance,
And no dresses, just pants.
"I am not a boy,"
She says, cutesy and coy.

Paradoxical split between the worlds in which I inhabit
Space and time discontinuum
For which art thou represent?
Nonsense you buffoon!

Insanity, sweet sweet insanity
Chill my bones yet warm my heart
Unorthodox orthodoxy with power
Eat thy young

The void always welcome weary travelers
Yet travelers that embrace the void
Are no longer travelers
For we love and loathe our void

Loving and loathing
The story of my passing through time
Completely unfinished
Yet left resolved

What is it that I speak of?
I sincerely wish I knew
I am only a medium
For the being inside of me

Is that not what we all are?
Just bodies withering ever so slightly
Whilst our souls remain forever youthful?
This life can make your soul grow old as well

Or is life an act of duality
In which we sleep at night
So that our souls can show us their lives
And awake to show our souls ours?

Nothing makes sense
It isn't supposed to
That's why there is faith
Whether in nothing or everything

I am nowhere yet everywhere
A tiny speck yet everything I've ever known
I am a clown confused in a circus
Switching realities, or rather fantasies