I could write

Ten thousand poems

About you -

And still,

They wouldn't have

Enough words

To describe how

Absolutely

Perfect

You are.

Gender and I don't have an

Easy relationship.

I don't know what it is.

I just knew what I was told:

Some people are boys,

Some people are girls.

End of story.

But was it really?

Since 5th grade,

The year of

Drama,

Puberty,

Crushes,

I knew

That I was a bit

"Odd".

I didn't fit in well

With the girls

Or the boys.

I dressed too feminine,

But I acted too masculine.

I looked like both,

And I felt like

Neither.

But I was a girl,

I was told that fact

My whole life.

That's who I am.

I can't change it.

I have to stay in the

Girl's line,

Girl's group,

Girl's bathroom.

"You look masculine."

A simple sentence, dared said

By one of my closest friends,

Why did that bring me

So

Much

Happiness?

Why did I ask,

With so much energy,

"Really?"

So,

What if I could change it?

What if I weren't a girl?

What if I were a boy?

Or what if I were

Nothing?

I baked and cleaned with my mom,

I helped my dad with house repairs,

I played cars and Barbies with my brother.

I had friends that were girls,

And we giggled and gossiped.

I had friends that were boys,

And we joked and teased.

I wore skirts in the spring,

Pants in the winter.

I sang songs in the choir,

I screamed on the playground.

Where do I fit in?

Nowhere?

Is that okay?

Is that what I want?

Is it really that simple,

To be neither,

Nowhere,

Nothing?

Can I be that,

Not one or the other,

Not the in-between,

But the nothingness?

Is there even a word for that?

Apparently there are multiple,

You take your pick;

It's not a "one size fits all,"

It's not two boxes anymore,

It's a whole world of identities

It's what fits you.

6th grade me learned one:

Non-binary,

Neither male nor female.

But I was a girl.

I was told that fact

My whole life.

That's who I am.

That's who I was.

Could I change it?

I did.

9th grade.

Non-binary.

But it didn't fit right.

That wasn't me

Yet.

So now, in 10th grade,

I found another word:

Agender,

A lack of gender.

Neutral.

Nothing.

Perfect.

Five years later,

And 10th grade me

Wants to go back

To 5th grade me

And tell them,

"You knew all along".

And so the cycle continues,

Because I never learn.

Another plan,

Another chance,

Another project or task,

So simple and easy to follow,

Yet also so easy to forget,

So easy to fail.

The weight of expectations,

The feeling of eyes, always watching,

Continues to hang over me

And judge

Every move, every mistake,

Every frustrated defeat.

It only adds to my own judgement

Of myself, of my work.

The bed and its sheets,

Thick as blubber,

Attempts at luring me into sleep.

With a shake of the head,

The thought, like a marble,

Rolls out of my mind.

I continue to work until the darkness

And the sheet swallow me whole.

I must get drunk off this feeling.

Why else would I continue

To keep myself from production,

And then binge the night before

An assignment is due?

It's better than waiting for sleep.

And so the cycle continues,

Because I cannot learn.

Surrounded by darkness,

The only source of light in this room

Is the phone screen

With your last message

Burning into my retinas.

And I'm sitting here,

Making a poor attempt at

Stifling my laughter

And trying to think of a good response.

My smile grows wider

And my face becomes hotter

With every new text you send.

Now I've fallen down the rabbit hole

That I've tumbled into so many times

And had to crawl my way out

With scraped knees and bruised arms

And dirt under my nails.

But the nights are perfect for our conversations

And indulging in this feeling of falling

Until I see you again tomorrow.

Shouldn't procrastination

And the insatiable desire

To always do absolutely perfectly

On every assignment, every single project

Balance each other out?

Shouldn't my craving

To stay in bed all day

Mourning over this very dilemma

That I write about now,

Be overshadowed by the sheer need

To do well, to impress?

Unfortunately,

They don't balance.

Nothing changes.

Except that my assignments

Are done so meticulously

That you would never even believe,

Never imagine,

That I stayed up until 12 A.M.

Finishing it.

I knew from the moment that you laughed with me at a stupid mistake I made that I could no longer consider our friendship situational, where kids in tiny, ruthless classes had to scramble to find one merciful friend, but that I now considered it fate. It's an overused word with no longer any deep meaning behind it, but when I look at our relationship, I believe it with my whole being: when you laugh, my sides and lungs hurt from the most atrocious belly-laugh; when I cry, you sob with me and comfort me through it; when you vented to me, becoming more selfish with conversations only revolving around you and tearing bits of our relationship apart, I stood by and continued to support you; when I tore into you for your words and actions, when I broke your heart, a piece of me broke too. But like a broken bone, we came back together, we apologized and learned together, and we healed to be stronger - not unbreakable - and I consider myself lucky to have met you, and grateful for the laughter, the sobbing, the insane school stories, and even to just hear about dumb, boring days.

Sentences are often left unfinished,

Words are left unsaid.

"What is-?"

"How the-?"

"When did you-?"

"No..."

What was I going to say?

Leave them guessing,

They learned context clues.