I'm still scared to call myself anything. I don't want a label. They are too confining. But I still want to belong. I want to feel proud. I was taught that it's unlikeable. I've learnt to expect that they will think you are desperate for acceptance. I act like they could all tell me to burn in hell and it would only fuel the fire. But really. it's the little things. The looks when we walk too close together. the rumours when i hold her kiss her cheek goodbye. The fact that they get caught up when they notice it's a she and not that i'm happy. I pretend that I don't care. Like I'm ready to fight them love. But the worst part isn't what they say, or don't say or what they do, or don't do. It's how I'm learning to do it too.

When I look at you,

I am not a name.

I am not a label

or example in conversation.

When I look at you,

I am not brave.

you and I have no gender

and we simply become one.

When I look at you,

the world fades to dust.

In the darkness of this lonely room,

you fill my mind too with endless black.

No flittering lights to guide the way when you appear,

only the constant emptiness.

I hear nothing

but my heart

beating and beating endlessly.

I see nothing but you.

you beautiful beast.

You are a stubborn threshold,

and my dream is to cross you.

To escape to the other side of this self-made prision,

into a realm of possibilities.

You are my fixed lever and my catapult

impossible to move as you rust around the edges,

an ancient machine.

One day I promise to you

One day I will clean away the dust and oil the cogs

I will turn the lever from it's position of safety

One day, I will set the catapult lose

and I will cross the line

One day I will be free.