Does it really matter?
#13 of Poems
While discussing time off requests (related to my name change) with my boss today, he kind of stared at me and asked if all of this was really worth it. I... didn't know how to answer him, how to truly communicate what it means or how important it is. And I know he didn't mean to injure me by asking, but I've been hurting pretty badly since he asked.
This poem is written for him. I hope it can help, at least a very little bit.
Yes it really matters.
Yes, it hurts inside.
Yes, to all the fees and care
to heal my broken mind.
Yes, to doctor's visits.
Yes, to DMV.
Yes, to lines unending,
so at last I can be.
Yes, I say, or tell myself,
the one who hurts inside,
the tortured, wounded little girl
who's barely still alive.
Yes, to tears unending.
to terror, shaking, cold.
Yes, I'm terrified of this,
but my heartstrings must hold.
I don't know how, but I must try
to live with what I have
to give myself a chance at life
as I now truly am.
Mere weeks ago, a mem'ry came,
myself, at four years old.
My heart was broken even then,
I could not fit the mold.
I did not know for longest time
how to describe my pain
or even what transgender was
my hurt had not a name.
Anxiety, in spades, you see,
conspired me to grip
with daggers deep within my heart
and threat that they would rip.
And so it took a thousand days,
and even more besides,
before I trusted anyone
and let them see inside.
I trusted you; I trust you now;
I trust you with my life;
for though you may not understand,
others would my throat knife.
I know it's hard to understand.
I know it makes no sense.
But know the changes you see now
are just to match the rest.
The part of me that hides in fear
on almost every day,
now risks her heart to open
and to attempt to say,
"It's not that I'm becoming.
It's that I've always been.
And every step that helps affirm
helps my mind learn again."