#dysphoria poetry

[blooms-for-poems]

Beautiful but not Me

I can't help but hate the person I see in the mirror

My reflection shattered into millions of pieces

Of a person that isn't me

Has never been me

And will never be me. 

But I can't change it

Without everyone asking me

Why? Why would you do this? 

Why would you butcher your body

You were so beautiful? 

And I am

Beautiful. 

I love my belly fat

And my curvy hips

And my soft face

And if this body were somebody else's

I would not hesitate to adore it. 

But I hate having it

I do not feel like this body is mine, 

Just that I am borrowing it from another. 

Like a pair of pants 2 sizes too small

But I can't take them off until the end of the day

The end of the year

The end of my life. 

I want to adjust the sizing

Change the colors a bit

Add on a few accessories

So I can feel right in my body again

Because I am beautiful

But I am not me. 

Not yet at least. 

[theimportance-ofbeing-earnest]

Close Your Eyes, And Wade In The Stream

“Close your eyes, and wade in the the stream.” These used to be helpful words. They used to bring me back from episodes.

Now, I hear these words, and I don’t wade in a stream anymore.

I hear the words “girl,” “female,” and more every time I close my eyes.

I can’t wade in the stream of calmness and fish. I can’t focus on the stream for it is now a sea. A whirlpool pulls me and drowns me in words.

I can’t swim. I can’t focus enough to get out. I drown in a sea of dysphoria and depression.

The tides make it worse. I’m too unfocused to swim to safety. What was once my first friend has turned into my enemy. It might be the last thing that I will ever see. I hold my breath and count to ten. If I’m still alive, I should be fine. I open my eyes, and there’s a void. There’s no sense of time or space.

I’m alone in the sea that was once my stream. What once brought me calmness has now turned into chaos. I’m not who I was in the stream. I’m lost.

[fluttershiesworld]

[ID: text reading:

Frequently Asked Questions:

How did you become like this? How was your childhood? Do your loved ones find you constantly grating? "Your clinician may ask to talk to family or loved ones to get complete information on the ways that your symptoms are [affecting] you. "Did you know you can lead a normal and fulfilling life? Did you know no one will ever truly love you? Do you know what compassion feels like? Do you care? How does anyone deal with you? How should I talk to you? Wow, you seem so different from everyone else who fits this arbitrary group of symptoms that I vaguely know. Why are you different? Are you special? Are you stupid? Are you human? Are you cursed? Are you monstrous? Are you possessed? Are you made of metal? Is rust eating you from the inside out? Are you a real boy? Are you a real girl? Are you raw meat? Are you beautiful? Are you an angel corrupted by pride upon seeing the shape of god? Are you an abstract painting? How can I make you what I want you to be in my singular narrative? end ID]

frequently asked questions, sunny valentine

[asoftepiloguemylove]

Cameron Awkward-Rich THEORY OF MOTION (4): ANOTHER MIDDLE-CLASS BLACK KID TRIES TO NAME IT (via @sweatermuppet) // Wayne Koestenbaum "Figure;" My 1980s and Other Essays // Mary Lambert "Why I Slept With Makeup on for Five Years;" Shame Is an Ocean I Swim Across // Keaton St. James DYSPHORIA CREEK // Richard Siken "Birds Hover the Trampled Field;" War of the Foxes (via @newvision) // Greta Moran Slow First

[loverssuggestions]

I don't want to sound crazy but I need you to know that I require to be told nice things. To be reminded that I am enough. My scars may be healed but they are still scars at the end of the day, and so while it wasn't you who put them there I need reassurance you will not add more. I need to be told I am okay. That I'm enough. That I do matter. That perhaps you won't just leave one day with me confused and wondering what I did wrong.

[fixing-bad-posts]

our bodies are vessels for a soul, we are not empty

Submitted by @iwannarunawayandbeapirate

[trickstersaint]

decomposition (dysphoria) // june 2023

[rowan-apollo]

some trans doodles about wanting top surgery

[wooftphr]

journal: bigender blues

[toomuchdivergentformyneuro]

i’m tired 

i’m constantly stumbling, falling, getting back up, 

but just in time to be kicked back down again to my hands and knees 

i see trans people, my age, and older, and younger, taking steps towards their transition or even meeting some of their goals for self image already 

i see my fellows getting up after getting kicked down for so long and finally starting to make steps 

and i’m happy for them, i’m rooting for them, they’re so awesome and i’m so proud of them and i’m so happy that they can do that for themselves

but i’m left here and i’m still getting kicked down 

even when i bind, my chest is nowhere near flat 

my binded chest looks like a trans person’s unbound one

and i don’t look anything like a guy

and i’m nowhere near T or surgeries 

i’m tall or lanky or anything else like that

the veins on my hands don’t show up

i don’t have an adam’s apple or anything close to one 

my hips are too hippy and my boobs are too booby

and nothing hides those things

no amount of large clothes, makeup, or exercise will do anything for these things

i feel left behind 

the other boys are starting to look like themselves

and i’m over here always stuck as a girl, getting gender envy even from them

i’m tired

— it sucks to be stuck as something you’re not, 8/23/2024

[hotteststar]

another poem bcs why not?

THAT'S WHAT THEY CALL IT

dysphoria, they call it,

but i think it's an empty name.

when you read it, you don't feel

all the pain that lives behind it.

you don't feel the pain in your chest,

you can't know how much it hurts.

you know nothing about the confusion

that that name can unleash in our hearts.

tell me, do you ever look in the mirror

and see a wrong version of you?

like you wish you were more androgynous,

but still say it's nothing.

you are what's between your legs,

nothing more, nothing less.

you can't change it and you can't switch.

you were born that way, that's it.

and then you start wondering

what it could be like

to be who you truly are, to be born again,

but in the right body this time.

to feel good when you look at your hands,

not to be scared of changing your clothes,

to be able to look at your groin without

that feeling, that lump in your throat.

i was born wrong.

i was born in a body that i don't feel mine.

i was born through a mistake.

i was born, but i don't feel alive.

i watch other people;

they are something i'll never be.

they are confident, strong.

they are so right; they are nothing like me.

'cause i'm wrong.

i am, i know it now; i can try to change it,

but that's still the truth,

even if i lie to myself and everybody else,

i still live in a body that i

don't recognize as mine.

[evakshinova]

<<the constant pressure to be whatever people want me to be is killing me>>

[ID: a text saying "dont be surprised when I bite" on top of a drawing of a wolf snarling biting on a star]

[am-i-a-boy-or-a-crybaby]

adam

Stuff my throat with apples

Coat my ribs in fire

Strike my face with cold metal

Make my body one I wish to stay in

Make my voice one that I can bear

Match my brain and soul

Catch my physique up to my heart

-grayson h

[arielthedaydreamer]

I know it's fun to ditch on men but honestly being a man feels nice.

Being a girl sounded like the fast pace of a high pitched violin solo, it tasted like a once delicious pizza completely ruined by too much salt. It felt like the bubbling anxiety of introducing yourself to a new group of people.

But being a man sounds like the low chords of an acoustic guitar, looks like the rain soaked tree leaves against the dark earth. Being a man to me feels like the cloudy skies touching the pale blue sea. It is the dark shadow of mountains against the gray horizon.

Don't ask me what any of that means, I'm telling you how it *feels*.

Fellow trans people, what does being your gender feels like to you?

[terminallytwee]

[poems-of-the-anentomologist]

suffocating 

I’m doing the dishes again

Staring into the water

At that boy

How can I call myself a girl when the face that stares back

Is just another random boy

You’d see playing on a subrban corner

My name isn’t my name

People don’t call me by my name

I’ve been cut off

From everyone

If I died tonight

Nobody would notice

Just another kid

Just another teen suicide

It’s better than the alternative

To suffocate in this form

Would be preferable

To living in a world where nobody sees me

It’s better than the alternative