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How can you tell me I'm not a man?
Because under neither my baggy shirts and ties I have two things attached to my chest that feel like they are crushing me.
Slowly leaking the air out of my lungs.
How can you say I'm not a man?
Because under my jeans and boxers I have the female anatomy.
How can you tell me I'm not a man?
When I know I am one.
Body parts do not define the person.
The person defines themselves.
I'm just as much of a man as the next man.
Regardless of what I have.
I am a man regardless of what you say.
I am a man regardless of what I see in the mirror every day.
Alexis Elizabeth Glenn...
That name will be reserved for someone who wants it because it sure as hell isn't me.
Alexavier Edward Glenn...
That name I only hear in my head.
Yet when I turn that big one right it will be the only name coming from people's mouths.
When I turn eighteen my life will get better.
Alexis Elizabeth Glenn...
This name doesn't mean anything anymore.
Soon it will be a distant memory a horrible nightmare.
Alexavier Edward Glenn...
My future daydream.
Don't worry this isn't the death of Alexis.
It is the birth of Alexavier. Yet most of her will for out.
Yet she will always be part of me.
I won't cross out that name.
Alexis Elizabeth Glenn
From my memoir.
Alexis Elizabeth Glenn is the prologue for Alexavier Edward Glenn.
Was it Vanilla or Lily?
May have been musk really.
Heart notes of Coconut or Sweet pea.
It sure did bring back her memory.

Oh! Her laughter and wrinkled nose,
My delicate desert rose.
She bloomed in my frigid heart,
Only to hurt and tear apart.
why are you so cute?!
*******
i can't breathe
i used my last
on saying "hi"
and "how are your classes?"
and can i kiss you?
which i swear
i almost said
but *******
do i want to
to feel your hand again
brushing mine by accident
hot ****
i remember that
and oh i can breathe again
to say "bye"
and "see ya around"
hopefully tomorrow
and the day after maybe
hopefully always
i miss you already
a tribute to a ******* adorable girl...my unedited stream of blotchy, nervous thoughts
School
It's an insane asylum
With a firm grip on us
Who have been driven
Mad
We entered
As children
Innocent
Full of dreams
And the Asylum
It snatched the dreams
Twisted them
Crushed the innocence
Dirtied our souls
And locked
Our hearts
In it's filthy walls
Along with
Those
Who have been driven
Mad

We
Are
Forever
Encased
In
Madness
We try and try and try, we give it our all
Yet things are mostly left undone
We always say “you’ll do better next time”
but we know that is not the case


Although things are mostly left undone
We put in the hours until we are prepared.
We know that is not the case
when we get the grade back.


We put in the hours until we are prepared.
Continually hoping for a better day
until we get the grade back
and tomorrow brings another storm.

Continually hoping for a better day
We say “you’ll do better next time”
Because tomorrow brings another storm
We try and try and try, we give it our all.
how does one love a poet?
between the lines of their spoken words
and their haiku's.
a jumbled nonsense to an untrained ear
but a masterpiece
to the ones who take your poems
the ones they've studied
and they dissected
because they find them*  almost
as beautiful
as the way your soul shines
when you coin a poem
about the one who
coins their poems
about you.


*the delicate intertwining process of loving a poet.
I'm in love with you and all your little things.
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