I feel like my dreams have become so small.
I used to dream big dreams
Like being president,
A firefighter,
An Austronaut,
A baker.
But now I’m so simple.
All my dreams are T.

I don’t really know how to describe the feeling.
It’s kind of like you have 2 layers on Photoshop, 
Or a body and a ghost avatar.
But all I know is I can’t stand mirrors anymore.
Because staring back at me is a girl with a little boy in her eyes, 
Banging on her pupils like windows 
Trying to escape.

All I want is no more waist
No more breasts
No more binding, packing, squeezing, slouching,
Hunched over with my shoulders back to hide my chest.
I want to be seen as I am,
Even though I am not in the physical.

All I want is to drive without thinking of killing myself,
To be referred to as “he” and “Zane” and “my son/brother/nephew”
I want to not cry every time I’m tired
Or it rains
Or it’s cloudy
Or it’s Wednesday
Or I’m walking down the hall
Or the road
Or sitting in my room
Or reading
Or breathing
Or existing.

My dreams have become so small.
I don’t know what I want to do anymore.
But I feel like I’m deceiving everyone
By saying I’m ok,
Content,
Fine,
But on the inside I think 
I want to die.
And maybe T will fix that,
So that’s what I want. 
Because I’m not sure how much longer I can stop myself
From grabbing that bottle,
Chugging the Asprin,
And calling poison control myself
Because I know the second I do it I won’t want to die anymore.
I don’t even really want to die now, I think.
I just want a chance to live.
With my small dreams and all