I am He
She's laughing at you again. Making you cringe again. Making your hairs stand on end. She's torturing you. Trying to get into your skin. Your skin, only you belong. She's not invited. She was never here before. Her name is not real, she is not real. She wasn't here, she doesn't belong here. She won't go away, she's ruining your life.
And they don't understand. Because you are not her. You are him and only he knows you. You find comfort in him and you're mad at God who gave you breasts. This Dysphoria is breaking you down, it's beating you. And the binder that is wrapped around so tightly is saving you.
"But you're a girl." they say. "But aren't you a lesbian?" they ask. You feel like screaming because "Aren't you ignorant?" and "Aren't you hateful?" And people say it gets better, but to you there is no better, there will never be a better. All there is is pain and suffering and the kids who ever called you "it" or "he she" or "thing" are still out there when they should be suffering like you did. And then there's guilt in your heart and then you can't feel anything.
They say it's odd and they say it's wrong. But you are not different. Your heart beats the same, your eyes blink the same, your fingers curl like everyone else. You are you and being "different" is not real. "Perfection" and "Normal" and "Different" are imaginary. Because in his eyes, we are the same. Because in his eyes, we shouldn't have shame. I am me and I am real. I am me and I am trans.
And they don't understand. Because you are not her. You are him and only he knows you. You find comfort in him and you're mad at God who gave you breasts. This Dysphoria is breaking you down, it's beating you. And the binder that is wrapped around so tightly is saving you.
"But you're a girl." they say. "But aren't you a lesbian?" they ask. You feel like screaming because "Aren't you ignorant?" and "Aren't you hateful?" And people say it gets better, but to you there is no better, there will never be a better. All there is is pain and suffering and the kids who ever called you "it" or "he she" or "thing" are still out there when they should be suffering like you did. And then there's guilt in your heart and then you can't feel anything.
They say it's odd and they say it's wrong. But you are not different. Your heart beats the same, your eyes blink the same, your fingers curl like everyone else. You are you and being "different" is not real. "Perfection" and "Normal" and "Different" are imaginary. Because in his eyes, we are the same. Because in his eyes, we shouldn't have shame. I am me and I am real. I am me and I am trans.