I can’t breathe tonight,

feeling the bars of this cage around me,

knowing danger is only a confession away.

I’m still loved by everyone we know

as long as I don’t reveal my secret.

What would I place on the altar

to be free to be myself?

Not you,

not your relationship

with your conservative family.

Some nights I feel hunted

like a pilot behind enemy lines.

Nodding and smiling

as others say ugly, transphobic things.

And it’s not that I want to

kick down the closet door

tomorrow.

But it’s knowing that I can’t,

that I might not ever,

that makes the air in here

feel stifling.

I don’t hate my life

but I don’t love it like I could.

I feel less comfortable in this skin

than I used to.

I long for everyone

to call me

by my girl name.

I want to wear dresses every day.

I want to take that deep breath

of freedom

that’s always just out of reach.

I’m so anxious.

I’m so scared of the people I love.

Of love turning to

abandonment.

I still feel sick inside

like the child whose father

always said that he’d leave.

“You’ll miss me when I’m gone.”

And they’ll miss me when I’m gone.

No one will want the new me.

A world of slammed, locked doors.

I don’t know that I’m strong enough for that.

And I can’t drag you down with me.

On good days,

I can imagine

a girl

who’s beautiful and free.

On days like this,

I sit and shake on the bed,

knowing there’s no way out for me,

no easy answers.

And I’m so tired of lying

to protect myself.

I’d like to tell my mother

that I’m going to a transgender conference in November

and if she wants me to run the business

she’ll keep her mouth shut.

I want to tell your family

I can’t swim in their pool

because I have pink toes

and they cost me too damn much

to take the polish off this soon.

I wish I could be seen

and even celebrated

at my happiest

and most beaufiful.

I wish so many

of my favorite parts of me

didn’t have to stay

hidden away.

And it’s so overwhelming to think about

like my childhood terrors

trying to grasp the concept

of eternity.

I can’t wrap my mind around

the word “never.”

Or the idea that all my joy

is stolen,

at the expense of

someone else’s comfort.

Or that my grandparents

would have been ashamed

like my father was.

I don’t have one of those shiny, happy

trans testimonies

where everyone comes around in the end.

What I have is nausea

every time I think about

truly getting what I want.

I don’t want what I want.

I’m not strong enough to stay the course.

So I bounce between

what I want

and what I hate.

And sometimes

I just get so dizzy.