you call me a sweet girl,
tell me to behave like a lady,
I  am your little princess.

But what if I don't want to be a princess?
Am not a lady?
And don't feel like a sweet little girl?

you call me a pretty girl,
a compliment, but an insult for me.
you don't see.

in your eyes I am your daugther,
Am I a girl,
But sometimes I just want to be a boy.

My body is a curse,
A boundry I cannot cross,
for tommorow it will be a bless,
my body is a cage,
my mind the captived one,
my body is like a prison,
for my very own soul

Something is wrong with me,

I don't know what,

but I am different,

I feel different,

I don't feel like I fit in,

There is no place for me,

not in this society,

I am sorry,

but I am not -can not- be,

who you want me to be,

I am different,

Something is wrong with me,

I don't know what,

But something isn't right,

I am sorry,

I am not who I should be,

sorry that I don't fit in,

I can't help that something is wrong with me

You ***** need to stop I'm sorry for hurting your feelings I'm not the one that usually disrespects humans faith and love for something that doesn't even exist - I mean that I believe doesn't exist but you can still live you've got your feelings hurt but thousands of us can not longer hold on or have stopped living - 68 percent of us to be precise have met you speakers telling beautiful stories about saving and love but let your eyes meet ours and you'll have a cemetery party with champagne and cake for my people that unfortunatly met you - so called followers of everything that's right too many of us asked for acceptance nobody wants acceptance anymore after you've hurt people over some old book pushing things on us we're not just don't be ignorant it makes your mind look so small for a person with such a big mouth that normally shouts leviticus twenty:thirdteen those are the numbers numbers we already read, heard have screamed while overdosing on pain,blood and touch by you pedophiles that treat us like some dust trust me too many of us know  and won't come back so bring them back climb your way to your heaven and ask like the angel you are -father is killing your youth right?
~.V.~

My girlfriend is a brunette.

Still feels weird calling her that.
Or him - sometimes she's a he and
that's fine.
She's not a gender to me.
She's a person.
She's my person.

But as I've said before,
carving it out with black on white;
I'm broken inside. I'm broken inside and
I don't know how to
feel.
Am I scared or am I
emotionless?
What is that sinking ache in my stomach?
Would my mom look at me
differently,
blow it out of proportion,
if she knew?

If she knew
I loved the girl next door when I was eight.
If she knew
I drew a picture of our wedding and hid it
because even when I was a kid
I felt like a disgusting disappointment.
If she knew
I kissed a girl in my class when I was in the fourth grade.
If she knew
I've been this person all this time.
I'm not different. I am the same. The same person I was three months ago. Before I had figured this out. Before I had figured me out.

My girlfriend is a brunette
and her sweet-tasting love is
all I've got
spinning around in my head
right now.
It's all I can think about. It's all, it's all I can think about.

A Day in my Shoes
_________

How about a day in my shoes;

Where it's true I do have something to lose;

My skin crawls, as my mind aches;

To break the laws and decide my own fate;

My self-expression;

The ultimate weapon;

For the supression;

Is bleak and unending;

And still knowing all this;

Not courage nor strength can get me through this;

All I have to do is;

Be me

But you see;

It's not that simple;

For the lies I told;

For not being bold;

Are festering like a pimple.

Envy is not green but
something perhaps a little more sickening to me
than chartreuse and a spoiled ego.
Envy is when i see boys walking by,
looking down at myself again, i see my curves
and i hate them.

i don’t want them.
i want to look like the boys.

Envy is seeing other girls more androgynous
than i;
girls with broader shoulders
and with more angular faces.

why can’t I look like that?

i hear voices deeper than mine:
tenor, baritone—
and I shred my throat
day-by-day,
trying to come close to the pitch.

Envy is the aches in my body when changing
my posture from legs to shoulders;
from changing my stride
and preventing my hips from swaying.
i want to look like them.

seeing these people makes my insides feel
like they’re being twisted with a red-hot fork;
and it hurts, oh God, it hurts.
it hurts to know i will never look
like how i see myself.