for now, i am only focused on
recognizing the girl in the mirror
she sometimes looks like a boy
her rotting skin draped in doll clothes.

sometimes her body expresses itself
gagging and shaking from fear
seizing like it forgot stillness.

other times her body expresses this massive monster thing
it's deep and thick and blue
on some nights she tells herself its the ocean
over and over again she tells herself
that he is the ocean.

she wanted to tell them about the men.
the poets and songwriters and fashion bloggers and computer programmers
the hours and days stolen from her
trying to find some meaning within their violence

the men that had ****** her everywhere.
the men that had touched parts of her that belonged to nobody.
pulling slapping tugging choking bruising scratching
owning pieces of her with more aptitude than she ever could.

in sickness and in health
she could only recreate the memory
of their throbbing, drooling penises
pulsing with the aggravation of power

in her bed she shivers and gags
she's come to realize that this is how men love.

on other nights she is the ocean
deep and embodying
open and consuming
feminine and destructive

Honestly, I’m really tired of this conversation
and worn down from this constant repetition

I’m just here -
Not a girl, not a boy
Tired of being treated
Like some type of toy

Please stop -
Asking me
How to make it work
Because
I don’t know.

I don’t t ever ******* know.

A Pursuit of Freedom

A pursuit of freedom,
based on blurring lines
of gender identity
and other things to follow.
The profane is now the norm,
and we advance, we advance,
celebrating the frog
in its slow boil death,
as we seek to destroy
any who warn against it.

Where, will it end?

James E. Roethlein copyright 2021

Sorry, Ben
It's definitely your fault
You don't know what your talking about at all
And shame those who disagree
You never cited a single ******* source
Never made a single descent point
Just say "Biology" over and over
Then deny you have caused these kids to die
Sorry, Ben
Your so ignorant it hurts

the daughter of my mother
sleeps inside my chest.
murmurs in her sleep
"i could do it better, i could be loved for it"

                      my mother loves her daughter.

it's hard, letting her go
my home of many years
no matter how uncomfortable the bed was
how cold the rooms
i lived in her
was loved in her

sometimes i take her out
drag her out of my soul like old laundry
like nostalgia, like a party dress
i slip, quietly, into her skin
wear her face, her family.
she doesn't fit right.

the daughter of my mother
is coated in broken glass on the inside
but as her
i can do it better, i can be loved for it

                      my mother loves her daughter.
.

I can't be vulnerable anymore.  

Society seems to hate what I stand for.

People always say they have an open door.

But it's closed when I come around.

Mankind only listens to what they want to  

Thick skulls I just can't break through.

They can’t see life through my point of view.

Listen, you could be hating someone you love.

Kids feeling like acceptance is something they aren't deserving of

Makes them feel like something they can't control makes you stand above.

But we all are created equal.

The words you say to those that are different can be lethal.

You preach words god didn’t say then pray under that steeple.

God said love thy neighbor, you don’t pick and choose.

The past is the past, it's time to stop the mental abuse.

More people to suicide, we don’t need to lose.

i stare up at the splotchy night sky
and wish for you
you're still hidden in the shadows of my heart
buried deep in layers of self-loathing
dressed in starvation and ****** mary's
i long for you
from a place i am not yet aware of
i wish i knew who you were

You call me a girl,
You call me a young woman,
You use she/her pronouns,
Hearing that, makes a little more of my soul die.

Oh you ask why?
It might because I'm a f*ing guy,
I may look like a girl but I'm not,
So quit being such a thot.

I am a male no matter what that paper says,
I came out to you and you throw me down,
You said I could trust you but you lied,
But I'm supposed to confide,

I come out as Trans and Pan,
But you refuse to call me a man,
I try to explain,
But all I can hear is you complain.

I'm getting the hair cut and the dye,
Maybe then you will see a guy,
Just in case I'm getting a binder,
Just so you can see the reminder.

I'm no longer your little girl,
Nor am I your daughter,
I am your Transgender son,
I am your little boy.