The Others
Boys don’t cry, but girls do. What about the others?
The pain isn’t physical, that’s just the side effects. Am I supposed to be content living in someone else’s body? I want to reach out for help, but I don’t in fear of becoming the next toxic friend we’re trying to cut off. I guess I’m fucked up.
I know what they say behind closed doors. That I’m confused. A dyke. Being trendy. I’M NOT. There is no place in society for the others. No place in my home for me. Inquiry turns to yelling and tears. My spirit is broken, their egos inflated.
Betrayed by the people I thought were on my side. Maybe I’m just bitter and jaded but I don’t trust them as much as I used to. Maybe it’s normal to feel these things. Or maybe I’m as unstable as she is. But I’ll keep it locked away so I don’t get cut off like she did.
I’ll get over it. Because I’m supposed to. I’m a good kid that doesn’t cause a fuss for this nuclear family. Disappointment is a rough road to travel, though I walk down it often.
Pink or blue. Vagina or penis. Male or Female. Everything is so either/or. Why not neither? Why not both?
I get misgendered and lectured. In the morning it will be “fine”. I’ll play along.
I feel alienated when I’m conscious. Some days are better than others, but those are few and far between. I want to dress how I want and not have a label smacked on me. I am an other and nothing else. Most people can’t look past the curves and poisonous estrogen though.
Too young. Too dumb. Too liberal. That’s all I hear. Maybe I’m just too alive.


















