Graved Truths

I’d be lying
If I didn’t try
To tell you the truth
About wanting to lay down
Inside and stew
In my own grave

I’d be lying
If I spilt but didn’t cry
Whenever I needed to escape
This headspace cave
Built from nothing

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Induced preventions

Ranting, screaming through my fingers but for some reason there is a block

Where, when why are there so many things stopping me, i’m allowing them to stop me, prevent me from simply waking up from my zombie-induced body bag

Simply trudging, walking, running through the subway tracks, hoping they’ll cave in and I’ll fall off the brink, edge shattered, sharp.

Just finding my way through the slow dancing legs the trees are waving to me, at me.

Back Burner Mental.

I’m sorry that my mental healt is such an inconvenience. But this isn’t any different. Maybe I could learn to not react as strongly as I do at all the “wrong: times, but I need you two, more than you know.

This isn’t just going to go away, simply just by sitting down and talking with people who already made it clear that they will never support me. That’s why I hate it when people tell me that family will come around, and maybe some people’s families do come around, and maybe I could be worse off, but this is already my version of “worse”.

It’s getting to the point where I’m realizing that most of me is just confining myself to other people’s perceptions. I get it it’s not something easy, it’s not something that can happen over night. But I’m just as confused as you are if not more.

I’m the person you raised, just altered. I’m your daughter who is now your son…. atleast in my eyes. I have support, but not by many family members and it hurts when I say that I’m going to have to cut out family and all you say is “do what you need to do”…. why can’t you just come around? Why can’t you just call me male. I’ve been mostly gender fluid mostly my entire life and now that I’m trying to actually be upfront and in the open about it, I’m being shut down.

People tell me to step into your shoes and try to see what it would be like to have a child who’s transgender or who is just simply being themselves. I’d like to think that even if I hadn’t gone through what I’ve gone through, that I’d try to understand what my child goes through. I’d like to think that I’d still love them with open arms and a steady heart.

Maybe you will come around, I’m just tired of feeling like I deserve this. Like I deserve to be told that I’m someone I’m not and just the thought of being introduced to people by the pronouns I grew up with, rather than my actual pronouns and name, actually hurts me more than the reality of it.

I love you, I probably always will. But sometimes Love simply isn’t enough. I’m tired of putting my mental health at risk. For anyone but myself.