Angry and getting…angrier. There is a burden it seems to understand why I frequently want to break peoples knees. Leave them in the past and move forward really fucking fast. I just don’t want to be here anymore you see, in this body that was given to me. I just don’t want to be here but HERE I AM. Send help.

Tiredness defines me as I slug my way towards the unknown, eyes half shut, body half cut. I must pretend now. Have to open myself up now to this gender mess somehow. Drenching all of you, all of you in blame for making me feel this way. When really it’s fucking clear to say I’m the one holding the mother-load of shame. Send help. HERE I AM.

And it’s not loads to ask. I want to leave this old body that acts as a mask, a cloak that covers up what I really want you to see. There are limited ways for me to do that. I can’t wear mens clothes without feeling like a bit of a twat, dressed up in a fancy dress outfit. That there are days when I will stand in front of the mirror for hours because I can’t bear to see myself naked unless I’m in the shower. Send help. HERE I AM.

Mental, mad, a lunacy has taken over me they say. Rich and ripe and in between lucid extremes of blood-lust dreams. One day. I will run away. Tempted from the moment I decided, that one day I will run far away. And I’ll say it was all just too much and the way out was easier and then one day. I will run away. Send help. HERE I AM.

I went to find my people, I went to be proud. Went to march alongside those that look like me and shout out loud! HERE I AM. But what happened didn’t enlighten me. In fact, all it did was frighten me. As I walked and walked amongst those that I am supposed to be alike the experience was just a little bit trite. Because I don’t really want to be looked at and high fived. In fact, the whole time I was thinking how do I hide? Send help, HERE I AM.