Every day is a battle,

every year a war.

I am your son,

your daughter no more.

Please, I beg thee not to cry,

It is not as hard on you than it is on me.

Six

feet

under,

will I be,

if you don’t accept my identity.

I can assume the dirt is softer

than your harsh words.

A preacher telling me of my sins,

was not what I asked for.

It was you, mother,

whom I needed more.

So please call me son,

help with my transition.

I’d rather be dead,

than face life alone with this condition.

Is it too much to ask you to accept me?

Let me know so I can be out on my way.

I’ll find new friends that love me for who I am.

Because my mother couldn’t accept the fact,

that I am a man.

I recall the times where I felt out of place.

Funny how now you’re just a face.

Mother, I am sorry I disappointed you,

I was always told, anything I can be.

So I became a guy,

who you’d rather not see.

New friends, I have made,

accept me as their own.

I am myself,

and they are my home.

-Alix