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Let me be XYMy chromosomes are wrong.
My breasts are wrong.
My hips are wrong.
My space is wrong.
I am in a shell, a prison.
Trapped, glued by 'miss', 'she', 'lady', my XX
A sticky, thick mixture of feminine.
I have never been me.
Few people know who I really am.
Him. He. His.
I am Tristan, and I'm a normal boy.
I just happen to be a biological SHE.
But no one sees me, no matter how hard I try,
I want to scream out for all to hear:
Just let me be XY
Bo.When Lindsay was born, Bo was there. Standing beside her mother, he was the first thing she ever saw. But he was not her father; her father stood on the other side.
Bo was there until the very moment she died.
The sun shone bright through the windows of her pink-laden room. She loved pink. And black.
“Because Bo is black,” she’d told her parents.
Her imaginary friend, they soon concluded.
“Bo is all black,” she described one night as her father tucked her in, “His skin and his hair and everything. He doesn’t talk a lot.”
Her father frowned.
“He sounds scary.”
“He’s not,” she insisted.
Bo sat on the bed and said nothing.
Her father kissed her good night and turned out the light.
“Why can’t Dad see you?” she asked.
“Are you real?”
“Are you real?” he replied.
“How do you know?”
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