Report Blog Entry
I want to be a boy.
Not a boy, in the sense of liked and respected.
But a boy, in the sense of scraped knees and calloused hands.
A boy in the sense of climbing trees and playing in the sand.
A boy in the way a bird flies in the breeze,
In the way the leaves fly to the ground as summer bids farewell
A boy in the way that I am a man
I am a man in the way that I stand
In the way that I hold myself
A man in the way that if I were to feel to harshly I would be ridiculed
In the way that I am not seen as who I am
In the way that if I were to say 'I am a man', I would be laughed at
In the way that the legality of my name is not the same as it is in my brain
The way that my voice does not match that of my own,
That my body is someone else's
In the way that if I stare at my self to long I feel burning hatred
And aching desperation
Hatred for me, being the way I am
For being a man in all ways but one
A man is not what I am in the most important sense
A man is not what will be seen, when someone looks at me
A man is all but who I am,
A woman in the one way that hurts most
But a woman I will never be, for I never have been
dont care if you get it or not, or if this poem makes any sense. all that matters is I know what it means.
Comments
Displaying 0 of 0 comments ( View all | Add Comment )