Insaneymaney

August 26, 1994. The day of my birth. I’m assigned “female.” Screaming, crying at the top of my lungs, before I’m branded with “she.” Her. Hers. Female. Daughter. Sister. Niece. T-shirts and jeans were my go-to. I hardly wore dresses. Nor would I curl my hair or paint my nails as often as my sisters. Or when I wore dresses, I got, “Wow, you never wear a dress.” I can dress like me, in jeans and a tee. I can cut my hair short. I can speak in chest instead of head voice, I can pack and bind my chest Regardless of what I do, I’ll never rest. You won’t call me “He.” Him. Hi

We had a home I never wanted to be in You stayed until you couldn't You stopped paying the bills Each undeposited check racked up The water wouldn't turn on And our single bulb flickered out We had a home I never wanted to be in The windows were shattered The walls had cracks Nails were scattered on the floor We were a real fixer-upper But you "never had the time" We had a home I never wanted to be in But I never left I didn't want the house to fall apart We had so many holes And they only just kept getting bigger We had a home I never wanted to be in And after enough wear and tear, You decided: This was a home you never intended on owning

the street lamppost light reflects onto the fence separating mine and my neighbor's yard it lights a distant glowing background to the middle of my window and the ivy growing behind it side glance, it looks like a figure. it looks like a person standing there, just watching, immovable. it doesn't look like it'd harm me. it looked like you.