a deadname is not just a name
it is a person that you want to forget
that person lived the most tragic life
and that person died the most tragic death

“deadname, deadname!!”
the people all shout
but that persons gone, finding their own way about

instead, they were replaced by another
with a more comfortable smiling face
who will follow their own lead
and can be who they want to be

my deadname does not represent ME.

No matter how many times I'm called beautiful
or pretty, of gorgeous, or any other comment,
I will always cry when I hear the name
You try to call me adoringly...

It is dead.
I bury it here
In the words.
I write its tombstone.

They call my name and I fall
Falling, Falling yes Falling
It has me feeling quite tall

You call my name and I fall
Falling, falling, yes Falling
I shrink to the ground, feeling small

And hey deadname
I hate your stupid guts
You ruined everything and anything
there's no one else to blame

And oh my God
I'm sorry for fixing your
mistakes
I didn't know you'd mind so much

Now people look at me differently
They seem to pray to you God
"Change her" they ask of you intently

spewing hate and judgement gently
It only hurts if it has sharp edges
Sugar coated pills I take daily

And hey deadname
I hate your stupid guts
You ruined everything and anything
there's no one else to blame

And oh my God
I'm sorry for fixing your
mistakes
I didn't know you'd mind so much

Colors cover my body and brain
Sticky thoughts, sticky hands
But I'm the one to blame

I treat the sickness you gave
Without your sugar coated drug
acceptance is what I crave

Dear Deadname,
Someday I will be able to look at old pictures of you without disgust
I will look at your long dark hair and remember how much you loved it
Loved running you hands through it as you untangled it from its curls
I will remember how it felt between my own fingers
Silky and smooth and how much I loved it myself
Your eyes that were so dark they looked black
And how at the mention of books, or cake they would light up like the Fourth of July
How your smile was so full, and real
With no underlying intent
Especially how your skin would become so dark in summer
Yet so pale in winter, and still look beautiful on you
Even your petite shape was something I fell in love with
How you fit so perfectly in anyone's arms
And maybe even one day I will be able to utter your name
I am not ready yet, though your name is a beautiful one
I want you to understand that some day I'll love you but until then
                                                            ­                             Sincerely, Rowan

Oh, {deadname},

You're my beautiful daughter.
I know you're only lying.
You'll never, ever be a boy
No matter how long you keep trying.

Give up on transitioning.
Your mind has been poisoned.
The media has consumed you-
All the lies eating their way in.

Finally, you are my precious baby girl.
You're very smart, and you know that.
Don't think you're a boy- you're not.
You should put on your smiling mask

Until you're not sick anymore,

-Your loving mother

Hey. It's me, again. Probably not such a surprise, is it? I wrote you a whole lot of these letters. About all 9 of them ended up in the trash. Partly because they just 'weren't right,' but the biggest part was because I was too self-concious to give it to you. So, yeah, I'm in love with you. You may, or may not know. I really understand it if you chose to ignore that part. And, I like you, okay? Not only as in 'in-love,' but as a friend too. You were there when I needed someone, and I'm really glad that you were, cheesy as it sounds. It's kinda messed up to be honest. (I'm kinda messed up too) And, I feel like a creep again. What about this idea; You read this letter, You ignore it, I drown in sadness like I usually do (probably) and I never talk to you again. My feelings will hopefully dissapear and you can live a happy life with your friends and family without me. Sometimes I really wish I could do that. God knows I'm way to helpless for it. I'm sorry, this has really turned into one big mess. I tried to write it with my own mind, but that just keeps wandering off. I'm not sure what to say anymore. Sorry man.  Uh, there's a little "poem" on the back for you. I still have to write it, but, you can see.

Sincerely, Me

Dear {Deadname},
It's been a while, I'm sorry. I don't know if you want me to write to you, or if you want me to just talk. Maybe you don't even want that, I don't know. Maybe you just want me to show you how much I love you physically. (I don't mind any of that.) It's okay. Take your time to figure it out. Love's a weird thing. So is writing to you. Don't get me wrong, I love it, but it's different now you're mine. The world changed, in a good way, but even good changes are different. I know that I want to love you. I just don't quite now how to love you yet, but I'll figure it out. We'll figure it out. Maybe it's kissing you every day, maybe it's writing a letter every night. Maybe it's both, or none at all. Love is not 'a thing.' It's different every single time. Sometimes good, sometimes bad. You have needs, things you want. So do I. I don't think I know you that well, and that's alright. (I hope...) I wanna get to know you. In every way. I don't know how. I don't know what the meaning of this letter is, but maybe that's the meaning.
Forever yours
Sincerely, Me

Dear {Deadname,}
Hi, it's me again. I just... I needed to write. I feel like I'm losing you, if I ever had you. You feel like a stranger to me, like somebody I used to know. It's like you're here, but you've dissapeared. Maybe that's because I am, in fact, losing you. Maybe that's because you're losing yourself in this place. Or, we're not losing anything. I don't know, And I want to figure it out but I don't know how to do that. I want to get to know you. I thought I did, but recently the world's been changing a lot, you know? We're all a little lost, and I know I need you here. You're mine, I know that, that's more than I could ever ask for already, but still.. It just doesn't feel right, and I wanna make it right. I don't know how, but maybe you can help me out. I'm sorry. I really am. For not knowing how to love you, or for not knowing how to help you. I wanna be there for you, but I feel like I'm failing. As a person, a brother, a boyfriend, a son. I'm falling, but maybe you can help me up?
Forever yours
Sincerely, Me

Hey. Guess you'll know it's me by now. I don't really know where to start. Again, I wrote you a ton of these kind of letters. They all ended up in the trash too.
You know, It kinda suprises me. You said that you read the line "I'm in love with you." from the last poem I sent you, thirty times. but, In the letter I wrote you, I said it too. I really thought you'd noticed. I really thought you already knew. Not that it matters a lot anymore now. In a good way though.
I really don't understand the stuff you do to me. remember the first day of school, when we hugged in the middle of the hallway? Lucky me, you walked away for a sec. I was shaking, it surprised me you didn't see. How? I don't know. Or when you told me; "I would date you." And my brain just, stopped. I literally couldn't think anymore. It really felt like a dream, and it still does. I dreamt about you last night, I vaguely remember. It was kind of a nightmare, but before it got scary I woke up. But seriously, when I think about you I just, I don't know man. ****'s confusing. But yeah, I really am head-over-heels in love with you. And, I don't know what's gonna happen next, but I know it'll be a good thing.
Sincerely, me.

I'm uncomfortable
I'm uncomfortable in this feminine peice of **** others call a body
I look in the mirror and all I see is deadname
My body isn't me
My body is deadname
I figured this out yesterday
So I finalized my decision to get top surgery
Only to find out that my insurance matches my peice of **** body
Top surgery isn't covered
Apparently it's cosmetic
*******
You don't have to live in a body that's wrong
It's not my fault I was put in a body with ***** and curves and bumps in all the wrong places
I don't have 5000 dollars because I already had to pay for intensive outpatient therapy that insurance wouldn't cover
What's the point of having insurance if it only costs and doesn't pay

The name.
it gives me a fluttering in my stomach
a zing in my heart
a leaping feeling
the feeling of running to feel the wind in my hair
never stopping
like eating sopping wet waffles
sugary sweet sticky on a plastic plate
becoming a kid again.
But once I fly too high on that eternal flaming phoenix bird,
called false confidence,
the ashes begin to fall alongside me.
Icarus is not my name but my intention,
of dreaming too big hoping too much...
believing... in such a human invention.
Wings to let me fly like a Robin.

Angry and sad we fall to be reborn into a hope as false as we are
as false as I am.
For the truth left me as soon as I was born
and will lay dormant with me till I die.

hi! my name is DEADNAME
i hear it resonate through my dysphoria, i recoil from my body. i desperately want to hold a match stick up to my birth certificate and watch every letter blacken into ash, when i grow up to be a tombstone i want you to burn me too. ignite all the dresses i wore to church.

my name is WOMAN and
no matter how many times i insist that it is not, i will be categorized with a quaking punch in my stomach and i will throw up SHE. no matter how many times i jam this hoodie into a washing machine it will reek of MISS. i am cloaked with words of caution to the public (WARNING: PROBABLY JUST A PHASE) in attempts to subdue the truth because if it unraveled i would be myself, and myself will shatter minds and destroy virtue because my psyche is a crime scene, my humanity is a dangerous opinion, and my identity is a car crash. it is a siren wailing magenta; it wraps around my chest like police tape- i wish i could use it as a binder. those knuckles feel infinitely more therapeutic than the aftershock of FEMALE. i would much rather be bruised and downtrodden and battered and beaten from every centimeter of my body than to submit to the declarations of GIRL. i want you to punch me again please punch me again please punch me again please punch me again please punch me again please

my name is DELUSIONAL and
i heal paper cuts with bow ties because it’s as close as i can get to a suit when me and my wardrobe are confined within the same nine square feet of wooden floor. i still come close to weeping when i get my flu shot, but fill that syringe with testosterone and by god you can slay me like a beast, skewer that needle through my skin like a katana and i will embrace it. i will live for the torment, pretty hurts and, by god, i am a *******, to mask the sting by god i will sing like a gospel, a gospel who gets called handsome by strangers and owns a voice deep as a ******* ravine.

my name is SNOWFLAKE and
i hope i give you hypothermia, *******.

my name is YOUNG LADY and
while filling out my passport application i flooded the box with an M beside it with ink and never told my mother and i smiled to myself for the first time that week and i still don’t regret it, i will never regret it because no matter how many times i hear edicts of DAUGHTER she can never take that precious M away from me.

my name is SINNER and
i am a disgrace to faith. a mutant, a freak, an abomination, a monstrosity, not a man- just a girl who aspires to mutilate herself into an excuse for one. i am a shapeshifting sorcerer, you see LESS THAN HUMAN. little do you know i am a ******* DEMIGOD and i may be the owner of weeping willow twigs for arms and i may be left on the brink of passing out when i climb up the stairs but i will grip you by the collar of your shirt and haul you into hell with me on the other side of this mirror, by god.

my name is BLAISE.
i found this out at age eleven. i deciphered myself at age eleven. it’s just one syllable. it is a firecracker mistaken for a gunshot and i will leave cisnormativity riddled with bullets and the pistol’s name will be BLAISE. a kid from middle school will run into me on the street and tell me they can’t quite remember what my name is and i’ll shamelessly rewrite history and remind them, it’s BLAISE; a lady at starbucks will ask what to write on my cup and i will say BLAISE and she’ll spell it 'blaze', but i don't give a ****, it’s good enough, i will scream my revelation from my fire escape at four in the morning in triumph MY NAME IS BLAISE and someone will yell back from their car HEY BLAISE, SHUT THE **** UP and i’ll take it as a tribute, BLAISE is a MAN and HE sliced his body open and poured ecstasy inside when a cashier called him SIR that one time at walgreens. BLAISE is yet another piece of proof that the assignment received by some ****** in a lab coat doesn’t have to be a prison and you don’t fully understand these boxes we’re crammed in until you break them yourself. BLAISE'S individuality is authentic, HIS love is authentic, HIS reflection in the mirror is authentic, and its name is BLAISE. BLAISE found out the life expectancy of a transgender person is around thirty-two years old and you better believe that BLAISE will live to be thirty-three and HE will give a little bit of hope to trans youth who don’t even think they’ll be able to wake up to sixteen and HE will give a big ol’ ******* to everyone who doesn’t think HE deserves to breathe in their world for that long, by god, you better believe that BLAISE will live to be thirty-three, you better believe that BLAISE will make it to thirty-three, you better believe that HE will make it to thirty-three, you better believe that I will make it to thirty-three.

So my brain thought of another stupid thing;  "You don't deserve to hurt this way. You don't deserve to hurt at all. So please, let me in. I will help protect you from yourself. You've been there so many times, I don't want you to fall." And it's true. I don't know if I will be able to fix you with poetry and stupid nursery rhymes, but I will try. I don't think I'll be able to fix you at all. Maybe I am, who knows? I'll always try. Will you just let me in? Not only in your mind, not only in your words, but in your heart? I want to help you with every bit that I can. And, I get that's not enough. My words will never be enough. But, I will try. So please give me the chance to? That would be enough. Whatever horrible things it are that you're feeling, I will try to understand them. To understand them, and to help you get them away. Because you don't deserve to feel bad. You don't and you never did. And I get that my words will never be good enough to live up to your expectations, but please, please. Will you give me a chance? I love you, I really do. So let me help you, let me in. It doesn't have to be soon, it doesn't have to go fast. But remember that whenever you need me, I'll be there waiting. Waiting with all my words. To make you feelbetter, even in the slightest way.

Sometimes I’m [deadname]. She is Dominican mango. Perfectly sweet. She wears dresses and skirts, she is a princess. She is perfectionistic, soft-spoken, and proper, just as her mother is. She thinks that academics are the only thing that she can prove her worth with, but doesn’t let anyone know. She feeds off of the validation of others. She strives to be at the top of her class, anything less would make her a failure. She never stops until she succeeds, never giving up. She is smart. She is successful. She is perfect. She is my cursed present. She is [deadname].

Sometimes I’m [dead-nickname]. She is slightly unripe guava. She is bitter-sweet, delivering a punch of flavor. She is like the innocent child who has yet to learn the dreads of living. She is playful and loves doing her doll’s hair, braiding and brushing it, just as her mother does for her. She makes bracelets and handwritten cards as presents, writing all the little poems that flow through her mind like the wind flowing through the trees. She loves the swings at the park, flying high. She is like a bird that has yet to leave the nest. She is brave. She is playful. She is creative. She was my childhood. She is [dead-nickname].

Sometimes I’m Lumin. They are starfruit. Bold, sweet and sour, tangy and ****. They are bright, like the celestial wonder they were named after. They light up any room they walk into as their outspoken and unforgiving self. Their luster makes others stop and stare. They are like a warrior that would do anything to defend the people they love. A leader that leaves no soldier behind. They don’t let anyone tell them what to do. They are brave. They are confident. They are bright. They are my future. They are Lumin.

They all struggle to coexist in this world. They never get along, fighting like siblings. But they jumble up and create the mess of a person that I am. I wish that I could live by the name that is me, but walls of steel stop me from fulfilling it. So, for now, I’m [deadname], [dead-nickname], and Lumin.

Hey. Our philosophy teacher gave us an assignment about something with luck and hapiness, so I'm writing to you again. (Not that there's a difference) I love you. You make me one of the happiest people in the world. And, I'm really glad that you are in my life. I really hope you feel the same thing. You make my heart skip a few beats whenever I see one of your texts popping up on my screen. You manage to make me smile at any hour of the day. You light up the world when it's too dark for me to see. You make me so happy. In a  that no one else does. You make me smile in such a manner that people sometimes ask what the cause is of this 'happening.' You're just, everything? You're beautiful, by the way. I'm gonna tell you until you believe me. Because you really are beautiful. People always say that you look better when you laugh, but you don't even need to smile. Not that I don't want you to smile- You smiling is one of the best things in the world to me. I don't really know how to explain.
I'm wondering why I keep writing everything down. We don't live in the 17th century anymore. Ah well, not that it matters.
Sometimes I'm also wondering if you think about me a lot. If you ever do to be honest. But mostly, what you think in those cases. It's not really a bother, but it pops up in my mind at times. When I say this, I think that you must also know that I think about you a lot. Whenever I see a poem (Which I do, a lot) that reminds me of you or something, I get a little distracted from whatever I was doing. But, in a good way. I think. Can it ever be bad to think about someone a lot? It probably just shows how much you care, which I also do, a lot. I do really care about you. You're an amazing human being and I love you. It always surprises me how fast I can fill a page whenever I write something for, or about you. Well, it's not really 'surprising' me. More like 'reminder of how much I'm in love with you.' Welp. It's a good thing though, probably. I mean, I'm just writing stuff. It's not like I'm bothering anyone. (I hope?) And it just keeps getting better. You make my life a little better every day. So, thank you. Really. I'm so happy you're here. (You're adorable by the way) And hopefully, it will stay like this for a little while.
Sincerely, Me

My old name is dead to me.
That's why they call it a deadname.
The person who had that name breathes no more.
She was killed by my own hands.

She was named for both of her grandmothers,
some sort of sentiment to come from a careless mistake.
Maybe this is what made it so easy for me to **** her
because her name was a throw-away.

Her middle name came from the title of a movie
that her parents had once liked.
But the movie is old and bland, and the plot has no meaning.
So her names are futile attempts at trying to right a wrong,
trying to make up for something that can never be fixed.

I killed her.
I wanted her dead so badly,
so I killed her.

My name is Casey.

I am not heartless, though.
She wanted me to be Casey.
Although I killed her, she still means something to me.

I had to **** her in order to move on.
She knew that.
So I am Casey for her.

Casey.

It means spear.
A weapon.

Fitting for a murderer.

dear doctor crombie
rhymes with cranberry remember
that’s what you told me so that i
would remember your name
and you chuckled like that was
the most clever thing in the world
but all i cared about was getting the hell
out of the **** psychiatric ward because being
in that place made me want to try
and **** myself all over again
which is totally the opposite of
what i was hoping for when i agreed to be
admitted but i digress

because what stuck
with me more than the dismal room
i was put in that was either
as hot as hell-fire or freezing cold
to the point where i decided that i’d rather
be able to see my breath than be soaked in sweat
and your ******-*** joke
was the fact that on our first meeting
you told me that you thought my
coming out as transgender was
nothing more
than a diversion tactic

now dr. crombie
i want you to put yourself in my place
i was 16 years old
stimming and shaking as you stared me down
and then labeled me as nothing more than
a diversion tactic
and that crushed me
it had only been a few days since
i swallowed 40 trazodone and accepted
the fact that i would not be waking up again
and that was all you had to say to me
a diversion tactic
you pulled down the very core
of what i was in two words
and my god i hated you so much
in that moment

because dr. crombie
i had known i was not a girl
since i was 7 years old
and i held that inside me for 9 long years
that almost killed me
because *******
i knew that i wasn’t a girl for longer
than i had lived as a girl
and you just didn’t care
you took what i had given to you
laying myself out before you
because i was a scared
mentally ill teenager
that had just survived a
******* suicide attempt
and all you had to say
that my being transgender
was a diversion tactic

and even now
three years later
that still haunts me
the fact that you
a heterosexual cisgender male
born with a ***** and a flat chest
decided to chalk up my
9 years of hell to nothing more than
a diversion tactic

so dr. crombie
tell me what do you think
i was diverting from exactly
when i had willingly been admitted
to a sterile-smelling hellscape
where i was forced to relive
how i tried to forcibly end my life
every day in the ******* little therapy groups
that made me feel so much older and hollowed out

tell me doctor
what exactly was i diverting from
what was i trying to hide from and behind
by putting myself through the hell
of being near constantly dead-named
and misgendered and having to pay
up into the double digits just to change
my legal my deadname
and gender marker from an F to an M
and being told that i was technically still a girl
and being asked why i couldn’t just be a tomboy
a lesbian
a ****
a butch
why couldn’t i just be a girl huh
why did i have to be a boy

so tell me
dr. crombie
rhymes with cranberry
just what exactly was i
******* diverting from

Hey. Here's another letter kinda thing. Been writing these a lot lately. In my mind, never on paper. I don't really know how to explain what I feel anymore. It's like, I have this sense of feeling? Like I know that they're here, but I just can't seem to find them? Like I can see someone else in front of me, while knowing that they are a person with feelings and thoughs, but not being able to recognise them. Not being able to see the person standing there. Like I can see all of it, but not knowing that it's there. It kinda scares me, in a way. Like I see myself, but not me. Like I see something I was, that people still see as me. I don't know anymore. I've been trying to get my feelings out, and I still am, I just don't succeed often. This is seemingly the only way to get out whatever I'm thinking or feeling. Which is a lot, but also nothing at the same time. I feel lost, so incredibly lost. The world's passing me by and I'm behind a ******* window trying to reach it, but I can't. I never did. I just taught people how to communicate with me through that stupid barrier. It never went away. But if people don't come close to you they won't notice that, so it's fine I guess. And then you came in and smashed the entire thing with a ******* hammer. I wasn't used to opening up to people, especially not people who understand. But, I'm glad I did, and glad that you are here to listen. I don't open up to people much. Been botteling these emotions since 2006, so it's hard to open the bottle now. But I'm trying, and I can't thank you enough for being there with me. Thank you, so much. I love you, bye.

Today
I was sitting at the dinner table
Behind a baked potato
Scared
Uncomfortable
Anxious
While my parents kept watching me
I sat there
While my brother
And my sister
Ate with no problem
No second thought
**** i wish i could be like that.
When everyone else got up
My mom looked at me
And said out loud
"can you just eat it? Its not that hard."
The dumb thing is
She thinks shes my savior
But she makes me feel like I belong in an asylum
Everyone was looking at me
Judging
While tears slowly fall
From my blurry eyes
The thing is
She doesnt even understand
She thinks i dont want to eat
But I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
I can't
"I cant."
I mouthed
Silently
And she said
"Yes you can! Youre just being dramatic."
No, not said.
Exclaimed
She told me to take a few bites
I did
And I got up and walked away
And set my 1/10 empty plate
Next to the sink.
I went downstairs.
She yelled down the stairs
"deadname, get up here. You need to eat more food."
I ate some more.
And then I went back down
To sit with the guilt
I know shes trying to help
But please dont tell me to try to be grateful
Because she is just making things worse
My therapist agreed
The hospital agreed
So now
I will sit
And cry
I'm my room
Try to avoid getting blood stains on my sheets
Try to hide my tool
Try to get better
Because I do want to
But these people dont ******* understand.
And they need to stop pretending that they do.

The cold stone planted in the ground.
The wet grass surrounding the freshly dug area.
The soft dirt traveling six feet deep, and deeper.
The howling wind wanting to brush my face, but feeling nothing.
The cries of others wishing they could wake me from my eternal slumber.
The date of my first day carved indefinitely.
The date of my final day is placed beside it.
The deadname wrongly given, engraved eternally but never having sounded quite right.
The word ‘Daughter’ lasting forever, but never having felt like it quite fit.
My worst fear is to die with the wrong name on my tombstone.
My worst fear is to be buried and remembered wrong.
To not be remembered as me.

Worlds away wonders wander the world where wits are whirled away
today say, maybe they'd astonished to see the accomplished Adonis
of Helios' Colossus over Rhodes who got up and just walked away,
with a how do dividing the curtain and cracking the equation
dropping Moses' staff, a shower curtain across the non-sequitur equator
narrowing the horizons of all laissez unfaire thinking therefore collecting sandal fare
heart to Descartes, an impressionable precursor like a fine red Monet
Immanuel Marx dogged Socrates, regarding the genes of dogs Kant a dog have his day
Left the Right Hegelians, barking Diogenes, Wittgenstein gained in time wit in rhyme
with them, Malcolm's Little shoebox shine, deadname drop Harlemite lite, right
Americanite a mineral passage of rite, the torch guiding the night, healing those
who seek the roads, scholars looking for Rhodes, reformed in prison, crossed by X
he is real, alright, the Israelite, a nation, truth inside a deception inside a deception
Plato's Allegory, a cave underground, as close as one ever gets to outside
is as close as one ever gets, months apart, crossed off, X eyes, truth denied
escape for the birds, dream on Alcatraz, Nirvana and Americana holding hands
bedrock to bedpost, money between the sheets with narcotic pride
where shadows, patriotism, politics and reality likes to hide
they come huddled, hungry, seeking an old promise
to find a statue hollow and cold inside, wander the globe,
strip the robe, a beautiful poem
centuries old, keeps a wishing dream warm
where the metal groans and grows old.

Last years thanksgiving
Was very different than this one
Heres how it went last year

I ate
Without a second thought
I ate so much food
I talked with
my grandparents
No arguements to be had
And then
I went to bed
After 5 minutes
of shutting my eyes

Here's how It went this year

I ate
Two pieces of pasta
I got as drunk as one could
Off of carbonated apple juice
I flipped my grandparents off
After calling me miss
She
Her
deadname
And a transphobic slur
We got into an arguement
Mostly about trump
And then I went downstairs
To draw vent art
Text my friends
And write poetry
All while drowning in a panic attack
And feeling like nothing is real

Isn't it strange
how fast things can change
In just a year?