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?