All night, under the bathroom nightlight – I sit with paper, pencil, and pretending I’m not afraid – living as a writer, I’m free to stay here and write. I feel like a bad son ignoring the rules of the house – the house I belong but I do not belong to where if I write, I am hated for telling the truth.

I never feel completely happy in this house that is not a home - a prison.

Every few weeks, I have a messy crying jag that leaves me feeling shipwrecked – lost…

 Light as paper – someone who doesn’t belong here yet are here.

I WANT TO SCREAM OUT THAT I’M NOT YOUR DAUGHTER, I’M NOT YOUR DAUGHTER – I’M YOUR SON

My own thoughts are drowning me – yet I am a blue balloon tied down by an anchor of hatred.

These storms of depression are as normal as rain.

 Censored in my house that is a house but never to be called home.

I baptize myself under a new name – a name more like the real me; the one no one seems to see

My name is jasper – like the precious stone

Take away the womanly curves that were never meant to be mine yet they have five white satin scars on left hip, one on right hip

I am in hell because I deserve to be in the house that is not a home

Wicked curse of being a female –to -male transgender

Maybe God was too busy to correct nature to make me a guy

A guy from the day I was born