When being asked “who are you?”, I hesitate.
Not because I dont know the answer to the very same question I ask myself every morning
But because I am afraid to be denied of my own identity.
Growing up I was told I could be anything
That the world was my oyster, That the person I am is nothing but beautiful
I am beautiful in the eyes of my mother who has done nothing but
Put me on the highest pedestal with a label
“An anomaly beyond capable of leadership.”
Not all of us grew up this way.
A young girl weaps into her pillow in the form of a boy falling into an abyss we all know too famiallarly as depression.
It grabs us by the waist holding us packed tightly into a serotonin-deprived world
Allowing shame to run red against our thighs and wrists.
Leaving scars to fester the infection of unwanted
Because we are unwanted, aren't we?
1 in 3 trans-people will try to commit suicide.
That's 41% of all trans people
10% will succeed
Why does it matter whether I am a girl or a boy for that to be considered a tragedy
It isnt because we cannot accept ourselves, but because nearly everyday we are defined as a freak, or anything less than human.
I will be called It before I ever receive the pronouns of he or she
Pennywise is not considered a gender.
I am a mausoleum once considered a closet,
A memorial of whatever predatory asshole tore me apart gnawing at whatever pride I had left.
I am flesh and bones, not yet made of titanium.
I am not a statistic
I am more than a number responsible for counting the mortality rate.
I am not an epidemic
But we are a pandemic
From nation to nation our tears stain our pigmented skin
Leaving trails labeled with a sign “slippery when wet” and “caution: watch your step.”
At least we're making an impact
We are not less than our counterparts, but we are our counter parts.
We will scream into the abyss allowing our voices to echo bouncing off the jagged, sharp rocks at the bottom.
I am not a super human,
Just merely human.
Nothing more, nothing less.
Our definition of self identity shouldn't be a precursor to unemployment
Or rather sucking dick on the street allowing our own reputation be diminished to a fetish.
Contrary to common belief
I want to be loved
kissed hard on a late Saturday evening over margaritas and poems
We are more than we are perceived to be.
In my dreams I see a window revealing a world where men and women live peacefully
A world where I can use a bathroom without being considered perverse
A world that offers equal opportunity and as I reach to climb out into a seemingly perfect world I wake up
Gasping in a world polluted by the scent of burning flesh
My bones grinding with grief
Like waves clashing against sand
Rainbows gray scaled, screams halting to a hushed muffle
And then silence.