Hi, I'm James.
At least, that's what I want to say. But instead my mouth forms different words, ones that force their way between my teeth, much like the way I force myself out of bed in the morning. But since we're talking about mornings, let me tell you about mine. These summer dresses and cute flats never quite fit. Eating my breakfast when I wish I could be eating the pain and dysphoria I face everyday, wishing they would disappear as quickly as my cereal does.
Time for school. When I am addressed, it is always ma'am, she, her. These words drip so easily from their tongues yet cut me so deeply like the knives they really are.
Hi, I'm James. So says the boy I long to introduce to the world. Yet, he sits alone in a box labeled do not open, a box filled with mystery and potential. He awaits the day for his Aladdin, any Aladdin, to rub the lamp and break his golden shackles. But while he's trying to climb out of the deep dark hole I've shoved him into, I'm standing over him shoveling the dirt mixed with fear and guilt and anxiety covering the hole with leaves so that any other ideas I have of bravery or courage can fall in and die with him. He starts to choke on the dirt, and the hole feels like it's constricting him like a ruthless anaconda, and he can't breathe. But even so I can't stop shoveling because when he hurts, I hurt. I like the hurt. I like the hurt because it means I feel. Something.
Anything.
But one day, I know that James will persevere. He will cling to the rocks on the side of the hole walls, He will rip off the duct tape society told me belongs on his box. The snake will release him. The shackles will be no more. He has played hide and seek for far too long. Well ready or not, here I come, and I will be the one to say,
Hi, I'm James.
About the Creator
James Stevison
I'm James, I'm 18, and I'm a transgender wiccan poet/theatre major.
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