I want out of this fucking closet.

Another opportunity passes me by

because I’m not free to be myself.

Because I’m torn between genders.

And I’m so protective

of my female self.

I don’t want to give her to the world.

Lady Valor told me

it’s okay to be comfortable

inside the closet.

But I’m uncomfortable

in this false skin

I wear to please others.

I want to rip away the mask

and be called by my true name.

I’m tired of feeling invisible

and unbeautiful.

And everything I want

(to write, to be published, to perform, to date)

comes with that ugly hook

of being seen.

I want to scream

all these poems

and stories

about a trans girl aching for freedom,

about a bi-gender girl wanting

to be loved.

I want to stop writing safe

and lying about

what I’m working on.

By the time

all the people

whose disapproval I fear

pass away,

it will be too late to live my life.

I find freedom

in nights and weekends

and the safety of friends’ homes.

I take deep breaths in stolen moments.

I wear what feels right

when no one is watching.

I live a hidden life.

And I envy others

who have the things I want.

All the treasures

on the other side

of a price I’m not willing to pay.