We raise our kids on words like suppose and almost.
A lifetime of Hallmark cards and empty promises.
As though identity is a multiple choice question
With only two options.

To the girl with hair too short for her liking,
And a body she does not recognize to be hers,
Do not consume the venom that drips from their lips,
Or respond to the pronouns stapled into you, as though
They know you better than you know yourself.

To the boy with the aching chest,
You are not bound by the stereotypes inflicted by society.
You do not have to justify your name to those with acid tongues,
And ‘cis’-tematic oppression carved into their hearts.

To every person
Who has taken their hearts and shoved it away in the abyss of their closets,
To every person
Who was told that their identity was like the moon
On days that it disappears from the sky,
I am sorry.

I am sorry for every mother, father, brother, and sister
Who took your identity with a mouthful of  intolerance.
I’m sorry you had to come out of hiding
From a game of Hide & Seek no one was aware we were playing,
And the tsunami of fear that ensued after it.
I am sorry that some of us could not handle your freedom to love.

To those lucky enough to feel at home
In your bodies of Adam and Eve,
Others are not so lucky.
Do not be the serpent;
be the guiding angel
For those who feel trapped in this tunnel of sin and uncertainty.
Spread the love they were once fearful to express,
And respect their right to be who they choose.
Be the ally to the world’s freedom of love.
Unlock the door for those locked in.

Did I ever disclose
The exact moment I really found myself
Thinking about you seriously
In the way that the guarded part
Of my heart wouldn't allow me to?

I sat in a crowded room in a new hotel
Quick glances at social media before
The conference started, before the hush
When I scrolled past your face on the screen
Well, more specifically, the top of your head
Looking down, focused intently
On fixing a multi thousand dollar projector
Eager to take on new tasks, very handy, ready to help
And forgetting to sensor my own thoughts
I envisioned you fixing a broken hot water heater
In a starter home for us two
Laughing as you mended trivial things that I broke
Due to my knack for unintentionally destroying
Whatever comes in contact with my hands
But I saw you there with me, in the not-so-distant future
I saw us together, happy, very much in love,
And I thought "Wow, I could marry that man,  I want to"

Then I caught myself
My guarded heart kicked my wandering mind
In the seat of its pants as I teared up and reminded myself
Not to get too attached, not to be too trusting
Not to dream of it, for it won't happen anyway
The part of me that has learned that it is better
To be closed and prudent
Rather than to open my heart up
With the possibility of it shattering

But as I've spent more time with you
Seen your exposed heart and held your hand
Shared mine, showed mine, let you hold mine
I've realized that if I don't open up to the chance
Of having you hurt me
I would never get to experience the sweetness
Of truly loving you with my whole heart

*Perhaps you have been fixing the thing
That needed fixed most of all

You couldn’t look at me.
I was right there, and you couldn’t look at me.
Maybe it killed you to see that I could smile without you, that I could laugh with someone who wasn’t you. Maybe you finally realized that I could breathe and live, and that I didn’t need you after all.
Because at some point I got tired of chasing, chasing someone who was never going to come around. I was a fool, going back and forth playing your stupid, little game. The difference between you and I though, I tried to get through to your heart - I cared, I loved, and you didn’t. You could’ve let me in, you should’ve let me in, you needed to let me in.
But you made a decision, and your decision wasn’t me

Maybe it's the poet in me
that believes
that after all these years,
and miles,
and songs,
that you might untangle yourself from her arms,
tug on the string I tied to our fingers before you left,
and find your way back
to me.

Your heart
is pulling you across the ocean,
to ports with open arms waiting for you;
and I'm left here wondering
why it wasn't enough
that I would have tore out my rib cage
and made it into a boat
for you to sail yourself there in.

I would wait here,
at this port
that is both where you have been
and where you still are,
until I turned to stone.

It's the poet in me
that can't let you go.

it seems as though once you feel like your life is perfect and for once everything is going great
that eventually that all just fades away
you begin to realize all of the faults and flaws in your life
that you still are that terrible, broken person you were two years ago
I feel lost and confused
my head races with painful words
I've always wished to be someone that I am not
where I have a wonderful life that brings no torture to my mind
where I have friends and people who care when I'm down
where I don't have mental illnesses that affect my everyday life
where for once I can be happy all year and not just a day out of the month
every agonizing feeling takes complete control of my body and I can never feel myself again until a horrible breakdown occurs and I heal in three days
none of this makes sense
I can't even write anymore
I am good for n o t h i n g