The first time I uttered a prayer wasn't a glass stained Cathedral
I was kneeling long after the congregation was on its feet.
The both hands into holy war trace the Trinity across my chest,
my tiny body drooping like a question mark all over the wooden pew
I ask Jesus to fix me and when he did not answer I befriended
silence in the hopes that my son would burn and felt my mouth
would dissolve like sugar and tongue.
But shame lingered as an after taste and attempt to re-introduce
me to sanctity my mother told me of the miracle I was said I could
grow up to be anything I want,
I decided to be a boy.
It was I had snapped back toothless grin used their street cred,
played hide-and-seek with what was left of my goal,
I was it the winner to a game the other kids can play.
I was the mystery of an anatomy a question asked but not answered
groping between awkward.
Boy an apologetic and when I turned 12 the boy phase wasn't deemed
cute anymore it was met with nostalgic aren't missing my knees and
the,
and in the shadow of skirts or reminded me that my kind attitude
would never bring a husband home then I exist for heterosexual
marriage and childbearing and I swallowed the end sauce along with
these flows naturally I did not come out of the closet.
The kids at my school opened it was.
At my permission called me by name.
I did not recognize said lesbian but I was more boy goal what can
then Bobby.
It had nothing to do with hating my body.
I just love it.
Do not to let a goal I treated like a house and when your house is
falling apart.
You do not evacuate you make it comfortable enough to house all
your insides you make it pretty enough to invite guests over you
make the floorboards strong enough.
To stand on my mother for years I've named myself.
After fading things as she comes the echoes left behind by Maya
Hall leader Alcon Blake Brock intend she fears that I'll die
without a whisper.
Then I will turn into,
what a shame conversations at the bus stop,
she claims.
I would turn myself into a mausoleum that I'm walking casket news
headlines as turned my identity into a spectacle,
Bruce Jenner on everyone's lips.
Why the brutality of living in this body becomes an drugs at the
bottom of the quality pages.
No one ever thinks of us as human because we are more gross than
flesh because people fear that my gender expression as a trick
that it exists to be perverse in Smith and without their consent
there my body as a feast for the eyes and hands and once the
effect of my career.
There were very good at it all the part.
They did not like they'll put me back into the closet hang me with
all the other skeletons.
I will be the best attraction.
Can you see how easy it is to talk people into coffins to miss
their names on grave stones and people still wonder why they boys
rotting go away in high school hallways.
They are afraid of the coming another has taken a second afraid of
classroom her sons becoming like Judgment Day and now oncoming
traffic as embracing more transgender children than parents.
I wonder how long it will be before the train suicide notes
thought to feel redundant before we realize that our bodies become
lessons about sin way before we learn how to love them.
Thank God didn't didn't save all this breadth and mercy.
Like my blood was not the way that washed over Jesus' feet.
My prayers are now getting stuck in my throat.
Maybe I am finally fixed,
maybe I just don't care.
Maybe God finally listened to my prayers.