I’m sorry Grandma but -

I want to change my name to Charlotte- so

people will call me Charlie. I want

to bind my breasts with tape and gauze

like a tattered old Bible and wear pants that

never go higher than my knees. I’m sorry

Grandpa, that I cut off nearly all the hair you

gave me like an ex-boyfriend I’m sorry Mother

that I tried stretching my ears as if

they were getting ready to run a

marathon. I’m sorry Dad. . . I think you

gave me the wrong X Chromosome.

I wish I coulda figured this out a

long time ago. Because the thing is -

I don’t want to identify as a girl anymore.

I still like boys, regardless. So does that

make my boyfriend gay? The more important

question is: Does it really matter?

The word “taken” is bound to our wrists

like a three year-old child to their mother

I don’t want to change -- I just

want to love and be loved.

I tried cutting my wrists one time,

two times, three times, too many

times to count to see if I bled pink or blue,

and to for once in my life just feel nothing at all. . .

I miss the days of innocence, the days

before puberty engulfed my body like

a tidal wave, now, the only identification I

have that I know is valid is my school ID.

Don’t tell me this an identity like this is a phase

like the phases of the moon don’t tell me

that I am the moon.

My favorite color changes every day

I’m a mood ring wrapped around his finger.

I wish it wasn’t like this

going from 90’s rap to indie rock

to screamo music day to day I wish

I knew who I was. I wish my grandparents

would accept that I want

to identify as something I’m not

due to my anatomy. . . If I like boys

and identify as a boy -- does that

make me gay?

The more important question is:

Does it really matter?