White Walls
Author: Juniper Cordova-Goff
To be me is to stare at a white wall and wonder,
when will the colors of happiness stain the clothes I wear?
but then asking what (if ever) colors will be stained?
remembering that some will leave me in danger...
it is to stare at my closet and look to the left,
to find everything I've ever wanted to wear
but remembering the anxiety I felt when shopping in that section,
then to look to the right and find the clothing deemed right for me,
so restricting, but the extra fabric acts as a shield, lessening the danger I walk into
to be me is to walk out of my room and glance at the restroom vanity.
the mess is intended, although annoying to my roommates,
but the clutter is evidence that someone here, someone here just got ready
it is evidence that femininity was the weapon they chose to wear across their face
but I walk past the vanity and touch the smooth, clean face of mine
void of any color, helpless without any weapon, naked
to be me isn't always a choice of preference but one of safety.
it is choosing my body's presentation based on the characteristics of the event I plan to attend
it is the darker colors to blend into the night wall
it is not going out in the day because even white isn't invisible in the sun
it is the book and food and computer inside my room that act as friends
when my friends want to be public
it is me, not being me, in order to stay me: alive
to be me, however, comes with some days that the muscles in my mind flex.
it takes so much strength to look feminine on the outside,
so much strength to choose to reflect a gender society views as weak
to be me, actually me, is to stand taller in heels and sway wider on the hips
to let my hair down and feel it bounce and fall on my back with every step
it is to let my wrists float and my fingers to be accented with my favorite color of red
it is to look down and not be able to see my feet under a silhouette of a stuffed chest,
it is to have a chest that is called a bust, and not just a chest
to be me is to be called a name four letters short of the name my mother gave me
to be referred to with the pronouns I specify, that make me feel included
to be me is to be placed in a community of people I look up to in awe
for being them, for demanding that society see them no other way
to be me is complicated, to question everything we were taught as children and to rebel
to know what standards my body has placed me under and to avoid passing those rules
to comprehend the apparent danger my existence places me in, and to hold my chin even higher
to not walk with my head down past a group,
but to not hate myself and understand the few times when my body needs to
it is to work everyday to make those few times fewer and fewer
to be me is to be transgender
flooding the cisgender patriarchy of our society
with the millions of gallons of my gender's fluidity
to drown out the expectations granted to me at birth, wrapped in a blue blanket
to look in the mirror and understand,
though sometimes my safety outweighs my desire to look a certain way,
though sometimes I won't always look a certain way,
the white walls I once stared at
are waiting to be painted stripes of pink and blue by my own brush
to be me is to know, in the end,
deep down past the colorless layer of clothing
and brown layer of my skin,
I have always, already, been me
when will the colors of happiness stain the clothes I wear?
but then asking what (if ever) colors will be stained?
remembering that some will leave me in danger...
it is to stare at my closet and look to the left,
to find everything I've ever wanted to wear
but remembering the anxiety I felt when shopping in that section,
then to look to the right and find the clothing deemed right for me,
so restricting, but the extra fabric acts as a shield, lessening the danger I walk into
to be me is to walk out of my room and glance at the restroom vanity.
the mess is intended, although annoying to my roommates,
but the clutter is evidence that someone here, someone here just got ready
it is evidence that femininity was the weapon they chose to wear across their face
but I walk past the vanity and touch the smooth, clean face of mine
void of any color, helpless without any weapon, naked
to be me isn't always a choice of preference but one of safety.
it is choosing my body's presentation based on the characteristics of the event I plan to attend
it is the darker colors to blend into the night wall
it is not going out in the day because even white isn't invisible in the sun
it is the book and food and computer inside my room that act as friends
when my friends want to be public
it is me, not being me, in order to stay me: alive
to be me, however, comes with some days that the muscles in my mind flex.
it takes so much strength to look feminine on the outside,
so much strength to choose to reflect a gender society views as weak
to be me, actually me, is to stand taller in heels and sway wider on the hips
to let my hair down and feel it bounce and fall on my back with every step
it is to let my wrists float and my fingers to be accented with my favorite color of red
it is to look down and not be able to see my feet under a silhouette of a stuffed chest,
it is to have a chest that is called a bust, and not just a chest
to be me is to be called a name four letters short of the name my mother gave me
to be referred to with the pronouns I specify, that make me feel included
to be me is to be placed in a community of people I look up to in awe
for being them, for demanding that society see them no other way
to be me is complicated, to question everything we were taught as children and to rebel
to know what standards my body has placed me under and to avoid passing those rules
to comprehend the apparent danger my existence places me in, and to hold my chin even higher
to not walk with my head down past a group,
but to not hate myself and understand the few times when my body needs to
it is to work everyday to make those few times fewer and fewer
to be me is to be transgender
flooding the cisgender patriarchy of our society
with the millions of gallons of my gender's fluidity
to drown out the expectations granted to me at birth, wrapped in a blue blanket
to look in the mirror and understand,
though sometimes my safety outweighs my desire to look a certain way,
though sometimes I won't always look a certain way,
the white walls I once stared at
are waiting to be painted stripes of pink and blue by my own brush
to be me is to know, in the end,
deep down past the colorless layer of clothing
and brown layer of my skin,
I have always, already, been me
Chrysalis
Author: Miranda Wheeler
Youth is defined as the time between childhood and maturity.
Basically dependency. But we are faced with things like teenage pregnancy And feelings of inadequacy. We're expected to be immature and naive- After all, that's what society believes- But how can this be? From a young age we are told It's what's on the inside that matters, But as we grow, our hearts shatter. No one cares about the inside, The only thing that matters is the outside. Standards of beauty, Pushed by society, Tell us who to strive to be. Unattainable expectations taken root, Only fueling our pursuit. The question is, How bad do you want to fit in? Enough to starve to be thin? To cut your skin? What about to give in To that boy you think you love? |
We'll do anything to be accepted
Even doing things we've regretted, Subjected to the message that we must be perfect, so we try, But we're only met with contradictions. We're told to be unique But then seen as freaks- Geeks on a path to be renowned, Yet have no friends on the playground. Schools encourage individualization But employ standardization in the Tests that measure only our minds But are used to define Every aspect of ourselves. Well I don't need to pass AP calculus To count the scars on my wrists Nor do I need to analyze all of Frankenstein To read my friend's suicide note another time. Why learn about disorders in psychology When students are riddled with anxiety right in front of me? And passing US history doesn't change the way I see How this generation is belittled and treated like inferiors. By all of our superiors. Our elders. Our parents. |
We were told we have it easy
That's what we've been raised to see. But we question our identity And the notion of our supposed inability. Students working 20 hour days- Doing anything to get the grades. Drowning in seas of depression- Because they didn't understand the lesson- But if we ask for help, we are scoffed at. We don't face things like war But perhaps we face more- A war inside our own minds Perpetuated by all the lies That media and school have fed us. "Help us!" we're screaming But our words now lack meaning From being ignored and overused Excused by everyone around us. Well I'll tell you something. We don't need your assistance, Because our existence isn't built around you- A new perspective, long-since overdue. So what do we do? The answer? Revolutionary ideals we must contrive, But all we can do now is simply survive. |
Echoes
Author: Trevor G. Silence
Sitting alone in this car,
The music's turned down, Crickets chirp in unison. The sound hits the ears as one, A chant to the moon, "Where have you taken the sun?" Car tires from the freeway, Echo in the space, That is empty beside me. Breath escapes these hollow lungs, Filling the cabin, With memories of young love. |
Visions
Author: Trevor G. Silence
Flashes of street lights,
Through open windows, Gives a quick sight, At the way your skin flows. Waiting for next light, To check these eyes true, And take one step closer, To the idea of you. No matter the times, I see with that light, I still cannot find, What drives the fight. The desire to see, All that you are, Through streetlamp beams, Broken by this windowed car |
Consequences of an Empty Heart
Author: Anonymous
Wondering in a path I know I'll regret,
Not a soul is here to guide me, no goals to be set.
This world I found and should've seen as my enemy,
Has caused me much shame, the pain is consuming me.
Never have I ever thought I would see myself in such place,
A cold bed, and white across my face.
Opening the dark shade above my eyes,
Dismay I hear within every cry.
Tears falling heavily from the gunmetal sky,
Perhaps this is where I'll choose to say good bye.
Staring at myself from this icy air,
Hearing the sounds of the walls chanting beware.
How will this every be over?
When will this path end?
I'm blind to see that this is no longer pretend.
Pretending to be someone I never could be,
This is the consequences of leaving a heart empty.
Not a soul is here to guide me, no goals to be set.
This world I found and should've seen as my enemy,
Has caused me much shame, the pain is consuming me.
Never have I ever thought I would see myself in such place,
A cold bed, and white across my face.
Opening the dark shade above my eyes,
Dismay I hear within every cry.
Tears falling heavily from the gunmetal sky,
Perhaps this is where I'll choose to say good bye.
Staring at myself from this icy air,
Hearing the sounds of the walls chanting beware.
How will this every be over?
When will this path end?
I'm blind to see that this is no longer pretend.
Pretending to be someone I never could be,
This is the consequences of leaving a heart empty.