I would LOVE to walk in my father's shoes for a little while, and hopefully, have him walk with mine. We've never quite seen eye to eye unless we're chatting about history and antique cars. All my life I've felt this barrier between us that only grew as I got older, but when I came out as trans it started to feel like an impenetrable, million-mile-thick, steel wall between us. I know he doesn't really what it means to me or what I feel on a daily basis, but I wish I could at least talk to him about it. I don't understand where his acceptance begins and ends anymore; when I thought I was gay he was 100% okay with it, but once I realized I'm trans (and gay haha younger me, you're extremely confused) it all seemingly went out the window. He's always let me wear whatever I wanted because my body shape is kinda weird for my assigned gender so clothes didn't even fit when he tried to stick with gendered clothes shopping. Pronouns and names, however, are a complete no-go with him.
When you're like me You don't get quiet You don't not think Between the constant loop Of negativity And the never ending Need to fix certain things To put them in order To have them be perfect You don't get silence The world around you may be quiet But your mind is always yelling Always screaming This is my life This is my curse Then one day I met someone I almost ran into them in gym class And when I looked up to apologize I got caught in their eyes The perfect blue gradient From the pupils outward Slowly getting lighter Until the blue crashed into the white Glancing away I blush And a smile spreads across their face And they introduce themself And my brain stops screaming All I can hear is my heart beating And the blood rushing in my ears I stop thinking I'm lost in the moment And for a split second, everything is quiet
When I was young I heard many things about writing But what I was told the most Was that writing is the most wonderful thing That writing saves lives And I never understood What power words on paper hold The power within a few words Scrawled in messy pen marks Across a faded off-white paper Until one day The day I picked up a pencil The day I wrote And wrote And wrote Spilling my heart across the blank sheet before me Releasing everything I've held in my head And suddenly I know The power of words
She was beautiful, but not in the way her eyes sparkled or her smile shined She was beautiful in the way that when I admitted that I was afraid of women, she helped me learn to trust them She wwas beautiful in the way that hwne others broke their promises hers stayed solid She was beautiful in the way that when I found the courage to tell her who I am, she loved me more She was beautiful in how she always checked on me, even when I told her to go away and swore at her She was beautitful when she stayed up with me on the nights I no longer wished to live She was beautiful in the flow of her words as she dried my tears after another fight with my father She was beautiful in the warmth and pride in her eyes as I told her I came out as trans at school She was beautiful in the way she stood by me no matter what She was beautiful
When you are born you are assigned a thing. Specific,I know,but there's no other way to say it because everyone's is different. Some get an object that talks. Others get people or monsters. There's a wide variety that sit around in the Job Lobby. We get assigned based on a child's needs and personality. A calm, shy kid obviously won't get one of our more rambunctious things and a loud obnoxious (er.. uhm... maybe i should say free spirited, it may be less rude?) won't get assigned a scaredy cat thing. Oh, you want to know what we are? You likely know us as Imaginary Friends, but we call ourselves the Invisible Helpers. We're certainly real and we're always there. However, you humans tend to forget about us early on.
"I HATE YOU!!" That was the last thing I heard before the door slammed for what would be the last time. She left. She's gone. I was alone. I didn't want to be but I was. For the first time ever I was happy. Twelve long years with her. We met when I was fourteen, I was young and dumb and couldn't see past her fake smile and I let myself get close to her. That was the biggest mistake I made. I was stuck. She was my so-called best friend then she was my girlfriend. I couldn't get out. I didn't know what I got into. She pushed me around and told me... Nevermind that. But she was finally gone! I was free! *eight years later*
It is so soon old friend That you have met the end It seems like only yesterday Was the first time I saw you play Rolling around the floor Days with you were never a bore Playing till bed Then you'd curl up by my head Protecting me form the monsters We were just happy Vermonters Living out in the sticks Away from the houses of bricks The ones so close You hear a whistle when the wind blows Many happy memories Seems like we had centuries Yet there were only eleven short years Now my eyes fill with tears For when I woke Your soft fur I shall stroke As I did every morn Now my heart is torn For when I touched your fur You did not stir You did not breathe For your loss I grieve When you feel so cold My friend you got old Yet I stay ageless Your story has run out of pages I miss you old friend Too soon you greeted your end
My whole life I've wanted to have wings, specifically with black feathers that had red tips. But I was told I was crazy. Wings weren't for humans!! How could they be, we'd never be able to fly if it weren't for the giant metal birds we built. Thinking back, it wasn't just wings that I wanted. I felt a special connection to all animals I met and wanted to be like all of them! But wings sticks out the most because I wanted to soar above the clouds like a bird, away from everyone who'd bullied me. Most of all, I wanted to be free. Just me, the gentle sound of my wings beating in the wind, and the cool, crisp air that would surround me. Wings would take me there, I just knew it. I was jealous of the birds I saw flitting around by my window each morning, they were so cheerful with their happy little songs. I would run to my dad each morning and ask if I could have my wings yet. Each time he would sigh and roll his eyes. By the time I was ten I realized that I was never going to have wings.