My pronouns are it.
It. The pronoun that grammar would have assigned to be because I identify as a male when I wasn't born as one.
Even though I tell people all the time my pronouns are 'he' they still growl at me and hiss. They leave large scratch marks with the pronouns of 'she' or 'it'
Hi. My pronouns are it.
And even though I dress myself more masculine and tell everyone I swing all ways they still ridicule me and say I'm a lesbian.
Even though I've explained a thousand times my body does not define who I am they still call me by the name that had been burned into my skin because of my parents and their desperation for a little girl.
Hi. I'm an it.
Though, I'm not quite sure that's a bad thing. Because at least I'm referred to as a singular thing rather than all of the voices that drive me insane. At least I'm not the voices in my head that throw me against the wall of desperation and tell me that I need to be better. That I need to be stronger and push through.
At least I'm not the voice in my head that tells me to just jump and get it over with. At least I'm not the deep pit of darkness that sprawls out on the floor like clothes being stripped from a body that isn't theirs and waiting for the moment where my eyes don't open anymore.
I'm an it, though I'm not quite sure that's a good thing.
In fact, I should be able to say that my pronouns are he and him, just like someone who was born a female claims the pronouns of she and her as her own.
Why do I have to be an it when I'm just as human as everyone else, and why do I have to struggle through so much more than any other person?
What the hell makes me so special?
Hi.
My pronouns are he and his. I am not an it. I am not an object. I am a boy, just like any other.
YOU ARE READING
Invisible Papercuts
PoesiaA small book of poems. Some can be very triggering. I write mostly free verse. If you don't like it, don't read it. All of these are fueled from conversations I've had or things I've felt. In Honor of my Uncle.
