You tell me I should talk to you
That I should feel comfortable telling you things
But I don’t
Because every part of me
every part of my gender
every part of my being
Isn’t safe here

When you tell me that you’re there for me
I think
Are you?
Are you really?
Because I don’t feel safe
like you want me to
whenever I talk to you
whenever the words spill from my lips,
they are immediately pushed back in
Because they aren’t safe
They aren’t wanted

And you say “trust me,” like it’s that easy
Easy to trust someone who doesn’t believe my gender
Someone who doesn’t understand
and won’t understand

And you say “trust me,” like it’s the simplest thing in the world
Like I can just tell you about my gender,
as if it is an open book
A book that I will gratefully lend out

I tell you my name and some words I use to go along
Evan, he, him, his
But how do you know those are right?
How do you know I don’t hide my true self?
My second self
My other self
Those words barely touch the surface

I have to fit inside this perfect little box
That you set out for me
If my life,
my identity,
doesn’t fit inside it the way you want it to
you’ll just put some of the parts
in another box
labeled “trash”

You call me she, miss, her, girl, bitch
It’s as if you don’t hear me when I correct you
It’s as if you couldn’t care less

When you finally hear me,
you tell me I’m being too sensitive
Too needy
That at least you’re trying

And when you get it right
once
twice
You ask for a reward
Like I should be completely satisfied because
you can be a decent person

When I am sad,
angry,
frustrated
and you tell me to talk to you
Tell me to explain my problems to you
Why I’m hurting
Why I’m in pain
You say it like you care
like you want to know
But then again,
the second I start out the first sentence with
“Well someone used the wrong pronouns the other day”
You walk away
because it doesn’t matter to you

And then when the day comes when
you finally want to care
Want to listen to me
Want to hear me out

You say “trust me,”
as if I should.