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.

Aren't we?

 

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.