I am thirteen
when the mean girls call
me weird—
I do not shave
I do not wear makeup.
I do wear basketball shorts
and messy ponytails.
I am pressured to be her—
Aria.
I shave relentlessly
for the next two years.
I am fifteen
full of discomfort
and anger
breaking my bones like they
are glass
reckless rage—
all reckless no brave
depraved of a home
inside my own skin.
I am fifteen when I
learn what gender dysphoria is.
I am fifteen when I
realize I am a boy
that I always have and will be
a boy.
I am fifteen—
putting holes in wall and
overdosing on advil
like it is a sport
championing my own self demise.
I am fifteen afraid and closeted—
I write my name as
ALEX
on my school assignments
I always change it back
before I turn them in.
I am fifteen
convinced everyone loves the girl
I am not
and will never love me as the boy
I actually am.
I am sixteen crying on the floor
of a psych ward
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