spoken poem to this day

Love isn’t about how you feel about someone else.

It’s about how they make you feel about yourself.

and she’s too scared to get close to anyone, because anyone that ever said, “i’ll be there” left her with a broken heart.

I started testosterone injections in June of 2016.

Now, that was a huge accomplishment for me, but it was also the beginning of me having to navigate uncharted territory.

Most of the changes were smooth.

Voice cracks, body hair, bottom growth, acne,

The usual trans guy on T cocktail.

But come August I was rocking a crustache that should never have seen the light of day.

You know what I’m talking about,

When the hair on your lip is dark and in a really thin line,

And it kinda looks like you drank really rich hot chocolate and didn’t wipe your mouth.

Yeah, that.

It was approximately 2 in the morning when I noticed this atrocity on my face.

I was taking selfies and binge watching Netflix.

At first I was so excited.

It was like-

OH! I am a Man now!

There is hair on my face!

It didn’t totally register that I still looked like I was 13 years old  until I got to the bathroom and viewed it in good lighting.

I knew I needed to remove it from my face.

But faces are weird, and I had no fucking clue how to shave one.

I hadn’t shaved any part of my body in years.

I had only ever removed hair from my legs and my armpits and it always happened in the shower with a bright pink razor that had soap around the edges.

This was a different ball game. Faces aren’t even shaped like legs or armpits or vaginas.

The edges are more sharp and curves are different.

And the razors are different too.

There was a blue razor in my bathroom.

It belonged to my father.

It wasn’t the first time this razor had been in my hands, but it was the first time it was going to touch my face.

The blades were already familiar with my skin from late nights of cutting and crying and other things I don’t want to admit that I did.

Using a razor to shave was new to me.

You know, most boys have a father to teach them how to shave when the time comes.

I had a father too, but he didn’t think I was his son,

And he sure as hell wasn’t gonna teach his daughter how to shave her face at two-o-clock in the morning on a Wednesday.

So, naturally, I turned to the most masculine person I know.

He is 6’2”, an athlete, a huge dork, and he has killer facial hair.

No, really. He honestly looks hot as fuck and rocks everything he has.

But he also shaves.

So my dumb ass snapchats this boy at 2 in the morning.

I sent him a black photo with the caption

“Can you teach me to shave?”

While I was waiting for a response, I cried.

The last time I held a razor in my hands I destroyed my body.

This time, I’m building it up.

I slice my skin because I hate the body I was given,

And this time I’m shaving to embrace what my body can do.

It’s so fucking weird.

He responds with

“You get a razor and move it over the hair and it goes away you dipshit”

So I did.

But I definitely did not do it right.

I came out of it with the hair gone, but with blood running down my face and red marks under my nose.

No one told me that you had to use shaving cream AND water.

No one told me a lot of things about being a boy.

I covered up the gash in my face with makeup until it went away.

I felt dirty.

I felt like I was doing something wrong,

Like I needed to hide.

I thought I was done hiding.

I was so ashamed that I didn’t know what I was doing

And I was mad that I couldn’t ask my father for help

And I was sad that I never got to experience this the way so many other boys get to.

I taught myself to hide again.

But my friend made me stop sitting on my ass feeling sorry for myself.

He sent me step by step videos of himself shaving

So I could follow along the next time I had to.

My best friend was a stand in for my asshole father

And he taught me to love my body.

My body with the too big boobs

And the micro penis that is my clitoris

And the new hair

And the voice cracks

And everything else that comes along with my physical being.

As the gash in my face healed, so did my confidence.

I knew very well that I was an idiot who didn’t know to use shaving cream,

But I also knew that teenage boys are generally idiots,

So I was right where I was supposed to be.


Crustache by Emmett

Breathe in.
Breathe out.
The day inflates like lungs.
Exhale; lost my innocence.
Inhale; lost my honour.
Wisdom preaches: must you cast stones?
You became treacherous; I lost my innocence.
You became cunning; I lost my honour.
You showed me this path.
My desperation just walked on it.
You set the path on fire.
I had nowhere to run but doom.
As the day inflates like lungs.
Karma knows.
Fate is etched.
With each exhale and inhale.
I will become the fire.
I will become all the pain.
You will dissolve into thin air.
You will burn into ashes.
As the day inflates like lungs.
What goes around, will come around.
—  When they burn all of your paths and leave you to walk the path of desperation and negativity // Hina Syeda

Tips on how to drink to forget

1. Don’t tell anyone that you go from smiling and laughing to wishing you were dead. It puts a bad taste in others mouths.

2. As hard as it sounds being a cliche is just that, a cliche. This needs to be a “casual” self destruction not a teenage fad.

3. This skill is best appreciated in the late hours of the day when your sense of self is low enough that you don’t have to drink that much in the first place.

4. Tears are optional. But probable.

5. As much as you want to text them. Don’t. The lonesomness of the whole event will be dissaccociated if you let reality seep into your veins.

6. As much as you would like to think I am strong enough to drink myself away you’re wrong.

7.Go back and replace it with an empty mind and a broken heart. Go back and see I am too scared to die, but I also don’t want to live. This forgetting part is hard. I forgive too easy and think too much.

8. I want to drink to forget you. I want to rip myself from reality even if just briefly.

9. Shut the fridge and walk away. You aren’t strong enough to make a decision like that yet.

—  b.c.m.
Loving somebody who you know loves somebody else and no longer loves you is what turns love into something thats so painful it could be called torture.
—  VoicelessConfessions // love & something
i wonder if this sadness will overtake her. that soon she will not be able to breathe and drown herself in a sea full of sorrows. her tears tend to take over her days, weeks and even months to the point where she only sees that sadness. you see it’s hard to escape it. the constant struggle that embodies her daily life. the overexertion of constantly trying. trying to be someone she was told she should be. only to find herself facing reality. a reality so dark and so fragile. fragile to the point of breaking into the pieces that her soul has already become.
—  S.Bashir
08.07.2017
Two girls can fall in love

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.

This is when the freak show started,
God made a joke and
that joke was me.
But what kind of God would mess with a child of five
and tell her that although you see the Big Bang in a pretty girl’s eyes,
You should only ever fall for:
guys.

I buried my feelings in a grave labelled guilt-
And then I was eight.
Too young to contemplate,
the thoughts of my wedding day
not being the same
as the ones you see on reality TV.

Eleven.
My gaze at the eyelash on her cheek lingered too long.
Twelve.
These thoughts are wrong.
Thirteen.
God isn’t real, or he’s sick for creating me like this.
Fourteen.
Her cheeks are the only cheeks I want to kiss.
Fifteen.
Rainbows burst through the floorboards, march their way up the stairs and yell in my face:
“Acknowledge the stares, it’s just a girl”
It’s just a girl.
You are worthy of love.

Sixteen.
There has been a hell of a storm.
Dig up the grave, dust off your feelings and leave only red flowers in remembrance.
In remembrance of the time that you hated God because he hated you.
Of the time you would flick your wrist, when you thought of her lips.
Of the time when boys would temporarily fill the whole in your chest.
Of the time you thought that two girls could not fall in love-
could not hold each other,
and could not whisper the sound of forever into the silent night.

Teensy hands cup my curious eyes,
I am young and full of wonder.
At the blissful age of five.
If only I knew then, what I know now.