End Transphobia
Learn more about other poetry terms
I wake every morning to a reflected image of a wilted flower, once so beautiful and full of life. Now it crumbles into something ugly and unrecognizable, denying any evidence of physical attraction.
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.
Yes, Mom.
Yes, Dad.
You've told me this a thousand times!
No, no, I'm not getting angry.
Just getting fed up.
"What was that?"
Nothing Mom!
Just talking to myself!
Yeah, love you too!
Yes, Mom.
Yes, Dad.
You've told me this a thousand times!
No, no, I'm not getting angry.
Just getting fed up.
"What was that?"
Nothing Mom!
Just talking to myself!
Yeah, love you too!
Alisha, how are you?
Did you cross under the rainbow?
What the Afghan storytellers tell thier children,
So they can become who they want to be..
Thought about writing a song for you,
