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i.

i'm sitting in a doctor's office, and he wants to see my past and present
connected by a trail of bread crumbs - the story of my life

as a linear narrative.

but i can't reach back and pull forth an unbroken thread
that justifies my present -
i can't pick it all apart and reassemble it as it was.

yet he demands proof, and i'll give it to him.

i'll give it to him.

for the future, i'll do anything

(it's beyond simple longing, it's beyond hope - it's the only thing
that makes the next breath worth taking).

so i make my truth fit into his notebook,
i cut and paste the moments
until they fit together

and show a picture of my past
that won't let him deny

my future.

ii.

i'm five years old and i wear my brother's cast-offs
instead of my brand new clothes.

i don't know why but it feels more right to be a boy
when i play pretend with my friends.

when i'm seven and i look in the mirror,
i hold my long hair behind my head

and imagine cutting it all off -
long strands fluttering to the floor.

it feels like a pivotal moment.

at fourteen, i buy my clothing from the men's department
and no amount of peer-pressure is enough
to make me pierce my ears.

i hide my body in oversized hoodies
and whenever someone calls me a boy,

i cradle that moment in my hands

like a gift.

that's how i go on without really noticing,

but only because there are no words
to capture the essence

of these moments, no ink
to help connect the dots.

once i have that, it only takes time
to accept reality
for what it is.

and it hurts,

it hurts,

but it doesn't stop being true
no matter how much i try

to erase it.

iii.

the contradictions have to be kept inside,
where they'll boil until only fumes are left.

i can't share them right now
(not with you).

i need clarity as much as my doctors do

or this waiting will feed me with doubts
about everything i've tried to prove to them.

they want my certainty so much
that they're putting up
roadblocks

to slow me down

and if i let my hopes propel me forward,
i'll crash straight into them.

so i wait. and i hurt.

the doubts crumble into dust,
then i inhale them again.

(i want the future more than anything,
but i'm scared

i'm waiting for nothing).

iv.

while i wait i live in an in-between
and every day

i have to justify who i am
to my surroundings.

they don't keep their doubts inside,
but present them to me like offerings,

then demand answers in return.

(i try to be grateful that they
question before they condemn,

but i'm tired).

v.

finally,

i'm allowed to
start living.

i'm vibrating with my truth
and i want more of it.
i want to inhale
every fragment of it

and let it sustain me.

but it takes time for it to
settle into my bones

it feels like waiting
all over again.

but this time
there is no doubt

polluting my vision.

i can look back
and see clearly

without disregarding
every memory
that doesn't fit
seamlessly

into the tale
i've told.

past and present
swing back and forth

like a pendulum.

and it's all there
it's all true -

facing it
only hurts

when i forget
i'm still

in motion.