i cant write about being trans.
when i do, it either hurts too much
or i get angry,
or my words wont fit together
as they rarely do nowadays.
i cant write about being trans
because i am not proud of it.
its hard to be
when people say they love you
but cross their fingers
when you tell them the truth.
its hard to be proud
of the thing that seems
to have ruined your life
ruined your entire you
eating it whole
until all thats left is
a carcass of bitter words
and anxiety ridden bones.
i am proud sometimes.
i am proud of my brothers and sisters
who are taking much farther strides than
i ever could.
who create fires under commands
that consume hate
and fear
but i am not proud of me
i am little more than
an exhausted, invisible
sun
on the brink of combustion
and my parents are ashamed of me.
my family now only consists of
dirty looks and small talk
my eyes, are not windows
you cannot see through me.
i am more than just gossip
for your friends to joke about
i am not
a science experiment
i am not
confused
i know who i am.
i dont want
to validate myself for you
i dont have
to validate myself for you
but the anxiety
that crawls out from behind your words
before a single syllable escapes
creates knots in my throat
unreconcilable
by a knife
by a sword
by the sleeping pills that drown my dreams
my body seems to work against me
in every attempt at change
i am not proud
of my nights spent in excitement over
testosterone dreams
because they do not bring about change
i am not proud
that my breathing is constricted
in order to appear to be
what im supposed to be
but if i was supposed to be
i wouldnt be me
im tired
and i hate to be
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