Faith still stands

Proud,

Unwavering,

Like the blackness of the armpits

Defying skin lightening creams

Dear self from three years earlier,

Let me tell you what I wish I'd known sooner:

1. Sign up for running start when you're going into junior year. You won't want to be around high school kids any longer. Trust me. They suck ass.

2. Surprise! You're a boy! Yeah, gotcha with that one, didn't I? No, you're not cis, you're not agender, you're not genderfluid. Just straight up trans-boy. Cut your hair short now, it's AMAZING. Plus you look good in it.

3. No, do not be an astrophysicist. DO NOT take the physics science course. It is living hell. Art may not seem like it will prove a well-paying job, but there are jobs out there. You will be much happier in art.

4. Oooh! Last one, super important! Don't think about relationships because............ SURPRISE! You're asexual! You might feel pressured by society and think people look cute, but you actually just find them aesthetically pleasing in an artistic way and are MUCH happier having a good friend, like Kartar (Make sure to visit her as much as you can).

Good, now if I could only actually send this to you, past self, I'd save myself three confusing, wasted years.

Love ya, present self 2017

I am not a girl

But I don't think I'll ever be accepted As a boy

Girl to boy trans people

They get overlooked

I feel the weight,

A crushing weight

Like I'm apart of the evil in men

And at the same time

I have something to live up to

A standard of manhood

They call him Scotty Boy. That's because he's Chinese and Irish (if you couldn't tell they got the "Scotty" part from the Irish). His birth name is Yingjie, but most people wouldn't know who you meant if you used that name. They call him Scotty Boy. His hair is black and thick, flowing straight, just slightly past his shoulders, but he always wears it in a ponytail. And he always wore it under is favorite hat: a swamp green newsboy cap. He's slightly tan from his mother's side. And then there was a thin layer of dirt over him that made him seem a little darker. He was always on the streets of Brooklyn. That's where he loved to be. He's only 17. He got some height on his father's side and appears older. As much youth male culture goes, he likes to fight. He prefers friends over loves. In his own gritty, mixed-race, disobedient, street-wise ways, he is beautiful.

Go where you wanna go

And do what you wanna do.

It's not about them, no it's not about them

But you, about you, about you

Don't let others keep hold of your life

Take back the reigns because they have their own.

Those who lead their lives, as history's shown,

Those are the game-changers, ground-shakers, dream-makers.

Words of others aren't poison in your veins-

The antidote's your spirit; the vaccine is your brain.

Societal lies will leave you to die-

Let your conscience speak up; let the real truth guide,

Because you are not words and you are not stats

Like skin is not clear and stomachs aren't flat,

So if you dare believe that you are less than enough,

I will shout reality; reality is tough.

You are watched by God and you are made from stars,

The universe is here for you; the sky holds no bars,

Do not stop breathing and beating and beating,

For you seas are churning! 

For you worlds are turning!

So don't waste your monumental soul when it's yearning

To fight for its right to walk in the light!

For clouds are not there for you to sit in and stare,

But for you to wake out of, break out of, take out of

Every hardship a new kind of truth,

For this is the point of, the point of your youth!

Not the point of your youth but the point of your life:

To make every day better than the one dead at night.

When you're in the ground with a headstone above,

Your birthdate and deathdate will not bear your love.

The dash in between is what matters alone,

With sights you admired and kindnesses shown.

So what will it be? Will you waste your days?

By then you'll be free from the cultural gaze.

You can die with the tide or find freedom to ride

And find favor in the future of history's eyes.

Or at the very least, you'll enjoy that dash,

And hear every second of life's clamorous clash.

Where should I begin?

No one wants a world tour where you see all the ugly parts

So this won't be much of a tour.

But let's pretend that in this world -

Me -

There is no ugly.

We will just call it all beauty instead.

So Look.

Look at me.

I am afraid, I will not lie.

I fear being fully seen.

I am constantly reeling

And feeling

And stealing from my wells of confidence

And pouring out the water

Until they are all run dry

And then I wonder why

I cannot look others in the eye

Without thinking "wow I

am so much less than they are."

But this is a lie.

I will not eat the tainted food I give myself

Because I am more

I am more

I am more

Than the roses left on the stage after the show

And the breath of air before a scream

And the glass shards from a broken figurine.

So it's time

for me

to begin.

Where shall I start?

I will start with the reflection in the mirror

With her little nose and soulful eyes

With her perfect hips and perfect thighs

And stomach that should not be labelled as fat

Because remember, I'm a woman, and we are made like that.

My hands are made for creating

For elating and relating.

My lips are made for loving

and telling and welling

with words of truth

And this is why

I will not lie

About me to myself.

My surface has scratches and scars -

the results of a natural disaster.

Every world has those, right?

Those matter but

they are not everything.

Just as clouds are not the sky -

Stars are.

I am painted with stars

And oceans in my veins

Roots of life grow through my brain.

A wise man once said:

"I don't know who I am but I know who I'm not."

And I'd say I have to agree.

I am not clean-cut perfection

but I know that I am me

And that is a different sort of perfect

Less clean

Less clear

Less cosmetology

My etymology is derived from

The way the wind feels filling your lungs

And the sound of songbirds

And the breathy hum of a record player

And the woodsmoke smell in hair

I am all these things

Constant perfection

Fear of rejection

Continuous projection of

Evidence of living and trying and breathing and needing

Because that is what it is to be me.

I am beautiful; this is true.

I think I look an awful lot like you.