its funny because no one knows
the *truth.

but i will never be silent.

we have two ears
     and
  a mouth
            for a reason.

*humans,
             by nature,
     are supposed to be
                  creatures
   that listen.

I am not partial the cold in my bones, the muscles that quake, or the shiver that trails down the spine.

*But these are the things that let me know I'm alive.

don't treat them like they're rocks:
they can stand strong, but they need support too.

don't treat them like that forgotten garbage bag near your backyard:
they do not reek, and they are beautiful, indisposable.

NO! don't treat them like fragile flowers either, but rather:
treat them like humans who have been hurt, who dislike pain as much as the next person, and who need and want respect.

What is between your thighs? Empty stares hidden behind masks of confused faces, those who are brave enough to speak out.

Wavering hesitation in the questioning of names, locations, attractional appeal.

Do I even seem real?

Does my body "pass" the notion binaries with lingering questions of male? Female?

Of course, but who am I to decide the way I should live my life, or how I've "become" when I've shedded the skin of someone I once was.

I am nothing, if not a charade.

Why search for an identity?
You can live without one, right?
False.

Living is not synonymous with time moving forward while you
haven’t moved a single muscle.
Time runs even if you have no identity
but life? It can’t start until you’ve found one.

On a day when everyone puts their identities on display
I am left out of the exhibit
“Sorry,” says the museum, “but I only want art that has meaning.”
and I suppose that’s fair…

Yet as fair as it may be, I still want to be a part of the museum
I want to be able to present myself proudly with the other brilliant
works of art

Tick. Tick. Tick.
When Time passes by the museum my heart skips a beat
because one day he could decide to shut the establishment down
before I’ve had my chance.

On a spectrum commonly interpreted as binary
where will I fall?
Am I plummeting towards my identity or my death?

An army of questions are ready to fight
and the little clue I have stands no chance.
so I pull him back and I keep him close
and acquaint him with good ol’ mr. Time.

It’s fine that I’m frozen
Now that I know
that patient time
is helping my little clue grow!

Her emotions are like the tides of the Earth
But so are mine.
Too many guys want to help and utter these words: *"i wish she was mine"