Personal; French And Maths Well, I can't do them. I don't think any of my teachers understand that. I can't get my head around the horror that is French or Maths. I don't understand how to put the numbers in order, or if its 'le' or 'la'. Masculine or feminine? What's the square root of 81? Wasn't I meant to learn that a few years ago? Well, I didn't. I wasn't taught anything until the start of last year. My teachers were terrible; my French is still only rudimentary and I have to count on my fingers to understand anything. Yet, I am the only person in my school with an A+ in English, and I finished my Religious Ed a whole year early. I'm not stupid, please don't call me stupid. I can't deal with being called stupid because it's a lie. I'm begging my brain to work, to understand them. But I can't. I can't understand them because I wasn't ever taught the basics. I don't have a foundation. I'm diving in the deep end with someone only pointing at an Olympic athlete and saying "Do it like that." I'm choking on carbon monoxide in a burning building with no exits. I'm on a speeding train with no breaks. I can't do this. I don't understand how to.

Broken I am a mess, a wreck, I am broken bones. And nothing can heal, The scars I left myself, When I was holding tight, Trying to stop the pain, By carving out hearts, In my arms and thighs. I am trying so hard, To keep my cracked ribcage, From falling completely apart, And spilling my black secrets, All over my shredded skin.

Tell Me Of... If you were to talk of true love with me, Tell me something that will really make me see. Tell me of a love so deep that even the oceans are in awe, Or of a love so true that it transcends all forms of law. Tell me of a lover like the sun, who dies for the moon, Or of Romeo and Juliet, too young, married too soon. Tell me of a man brought to his knees by her wit and charm, Or of a woman spellbound by her lover's command. Tell me of no alpha nor omega, but equals on the battlefield, Or of one who becomes the other's willing shield. Tell me of sweet, fresh kisses in the early morning sun, Or of decade old relationships that have barely begun.

Trans* The fact that you don't have a lump in your throat, A bulge in your pants, or stubble on your chin, Doesn't mean you're not a man at heart. My best friend is a boy, his body is soft though, His curves fit against mine perfectly, When we fall asleep against each other. My cousin is a man, who binds his chest, He's saving up for the surgery, that he needs To make him comfortable in his own skin. They're both men, important men to me, And I've seen them harassed for being male, Trapped in a female body. They're "freaks". Similarly, having a penis doesn't make you a man, And liking barbie dolls is a phase we all go through, "But they like pink!" So? They're trapped too. My aunt is a woman, but she can't have children. She adopted my cousin after her surgery. She taught him it was okay to be a boy. My teacher "used to be a man", but isn't any more. She's beautiful, her hair is grown to her waist, Her lips are full and her chest is... Well... There are ugly rumours about both of them, Only a few that I've heard, but I know There are hundreds more like them.

?? You are the#moonand the stars, ((Cold, aloof and lonely)) You are the sun in the sky, ((Willing to burn me)) You are the dozen roses in my hand, ((Drawing blood with your barbs)) You are the blanket wrapped around me, ((Tattered and worn)) You are the lips against mine, ((Chapped and desperate)) You are the #poem I pen, ((Dangerous, yet intimate)) You are the euphoria enduring cocktails, ((Wrong, damaging and filthy)) You are the journal I scrawl in, ((Stolen, battered, ruined)) You are the light of my #life, ((And now all there is, is darkness)).