gender identity

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Who are we really when we are shut out of the world. Not even allowed a bathroom break. Why are we set aside and over looked. Jobs, college acceptances, name changes.
Humanity is blessed with a gift Of different cultures, different ideas Of uniqueness   But are we really that different, you and I? That we don't deserve all the same rights as you do?
They say       “God doesn't make mistakes” as a way of telling us we're wrong for wanting – No – For needing to be ourselves.   It's not a mistake that I'm transgender. How could it be a mistake
August 23, 2017   Dear Mom, Please read this entire letter through and don't skip around; read this before opening the email I sent you. Please keep an open mind. I love you!
Dear my dysphoria, You may seem invisible to the rest of the world, but I see you. You’re always there in the corner of my mind. On good days, you stick to yourself, just staring me down.
me you owe it to yourself you owe this to yourself you deserve this you can let yourself have this you can say it to yourself for now, that's enough you don't need to say it to anyone ele
To the person I was, the person I am, and the person I someday hope to be. To the person I carved out of my skin Out of my head to give it more room
It took until this year for me to accept me To even realize I was drowning In an ocean of the heteronormative I was floundering
Odd as it seems, I don’t remember where I was. I just remember my sister wanting to cuss
I am not a girl or a woman or a bitch - not a daughter or a lady or a mistress or a maybe - I invite the saints to hate me for my gender's inner glitch - for the figure in my coding 
Teacup. Clarinet. Napkin. The places I leave my mark define me. If I want to put my stain on the inside of a football helmet, LET ME.
I’m pretty sure that public bathrooms might just be the most important invention of our modern world, I mean think about it,
I am a girl. I am not a cook. I am pansexual. I am not confused.
one year on, one year on Two arrows
one year on, one year on Two arrows
Since I'm destined to be a coffee ground, I want to be fertilizer.   I don't exist in your bookshops or museums. I don't have a place on your TVs or radios. You'll never hear about me.
The crown held high upon my head The pain I feel in my heart as I look out  The Kingdom before me filled with dread I hear a man in the crowd shout   "Where is our Queen?"  
Can I join in?Can I be part of your little niche?Can I join in?Can I feel like I'm part of a new subset?I don't want to be just another person.I don't want to be me.I want to be part of the scenery.
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
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