Being Trans Feels Breaking Up With Yourself

In retrospect–

That’s the best way to describe it.

I am bad at breakups I just

Don’t do them, and honestly

When they happen, I’d rather just

Drop the mic, roll a joint and

Move on with my life.

I identify more with the queers

Who die in the closet than I do

The queers who die making a whole

Fuss about it– simply because

They, like myself, aren’t so willing

To burn it all down.

I identify as a tortured soul

With an internal dialogue running

All the time wondering

“What is this life and

Where is it taking me— I am not

Who I am supposed to be”

I identify as someone who solves problems

From the source and not

Suckling on some symptom solution

Hopping onto the next easy fix

When I need a recourse.

Whether or not I needed

Medicine to be who I am was entirely

My choice.

My ability for long-term commitment

Much like a relationship, was something

I had to consider before I started.

The thoughts that were with me

All along

Are innate, driving— compelling me

To drive off the road

As long and as hard as I needed to go

Until finally I found

Traction within my own soul—

Perhaps it offends some people

To say “I was born in the wrong body”

But for me— I was born

With a perception problem

It wasn’t until I cleaned myself up

Step by step

That I realized I didn’t need

A new friend— I needed to be seen

For who I am. And that perhaps

It was time for me to admit

That not even I could see him—

I had to be patient,

I had to find him and it often felt as if

I had to break her open in order to escape,

It felt as if I had to lie and tell her

Awful things just to try and

Make her leave. Maybe after some more time

We can be friends.


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