huzzah there

dysphoria hit hard lately so i decided to write a poem about how i experience it. this is obviously not how everyone experiences it, but this comes from the heart (mine) so there is definitely some truth here.

hope this helps to anyone who thinks they might have dysphoria as well, maybe just a little.

this is a lot closer to myself than anything i've written before, so I really don't care how many views or reviews or whatever I get. I just wanted to get this out there.

My pms are open if you want to talk to me though- that is, to my fellow trans people or enbies or anyone else. Please don't come at me with some bullshit transphobia peace out


Dysphoria

It's a word I didn't know

Because when no one teaches, no one learns.

It's grown though

(And so have I) to be a foe

That I can't ignore.

It's there, constantly, a feeling,

A punch to the gut,

The sensation of crying

With no tears.

It's tying me, all the way down,

Stops me from full potential.

They look at it with a frown,

With doubt, with excuses,

While it's growing and growing,

Essential to me.

Now that I think about it, it's always been there.

The fear of undressing in front if people

Even if it's my family,

My own mother.

It's always been a bother,

A burden.

Hatred of looking down and seeing what I do.

I hesitate in front of public bathrooms.

There's only two signs,

(Two lines to live your life)

In PE I go in one changing room

Automatically (can't start to stop)

The one I was assigned at birth.

You get a little document,

A tiny piece of paper,

The moment that you're born.

It includes a word

That shouldn't matter-

But it does.

Because with the piece of paper

Comes a manual to live your life.

It includes what to wear, what to like,

What to say, how to fight.

If you go against that paper,

Against what people put you in,

They'll look at you weird.

They'll call you words,

(And not the ones you want)

So what you have to do,

Is either fit in,

Try not to get tired

Or fired

Or you riot.

Wear what you want,

What you like,

Say what you want,

Fight how you fight.

I don't throw away my too small undershirts

I keep them, even when my mother says I've grown out.

I know I have, and it's not great.

I'm not 'proud' of my body like some others are.

It stops me, hinders me, vibrates of 'wrong' and 'why'

It stops be from bathing,

From wearing some clothes;

It tells a lie.

I cut my hair- I look good.

Short hair always suited me.

I got new glasses- the assistant said I was a pretty girl.

I know I'm pretty

Beauty standards thin, but curves, but not too much

For a woman.

I'm not stupid, I know they're fucked up.

And I don't care for them

In fact, I despise them,

For telling me what to look like

What to feel

What to think

My fate is sealed.

I'm scared

Of writing this.

(I keep looking behind, see if someone's there)

I can't just declare what I am.

Who I am, would like to be.

(I'm not even sure myself)

I'm scared to disappoint.

My family, my friends.

If I say, I'm asking to erase the picture

But that's not what I want.

I want to stay the same,

Just not a "girl" or "boy"

I am a person.

That's all I ever was.

Not 'he' or 'she'

That is not me.

I'd say it out loud

If I weren't such a coward,

Didn't worry so much.

But some day

I will.

I'll them straight (queer) in the face

"Person."

"Child."

"Sibling."

Because that's what I am,

What I always was.

No matter what my body tells me.