I was raised a woman, or a girl. At most points there's no discernible difference. You are equally as responsible for your mistakes as any adult, when they look at your face and see your eyes looking down.
I know what I am to the people around me. Still a woman, still a girl. In public I am an oddity, to be quietly pushed aside so as not to cause disturbance, nobody looking my way.
In spaces advertised to be for 'people like me' I am forgotten, spoken over, casually instigated, dismissed again and again and I will not stop.
In my world in the quiet of my little room, I punch at the keyboard and pull at the stylus and squeeze feeling and memory out of my head and onto the screen.
I was raised a woman, or a girl. I keep my eyes looking down and my figure curled in, and the oppressive slow beat of society pushes in on me and begs to be torn apart with cymbals and flute.
I am used to blades sheathed in fuzzy pink faux fur
Wielded by someone who says we should be friends, because we're just so similar
As a girl I was taught that my death was expected, much more than any other's
As a boy I am a traitor, walk into traffic, jump off a roof, shut my mouth, go die
It's just the same as ever, so what
was
the
point?
Digging in with both hands I'll take whatever strength I have left and throw it back at you
A recursive bomb made of hate and my remains
A voice that isn't mine calls out apologies
But none of that now
What did you think would happen?
Did you think you were helping?
I'm going to live, just to spite you
These meaningless words I'll pitch into a landfill to be ignored once more
It's not new.