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.