What You Could Be

I haven’t grown to be a man yet.

Girls on film, boys don’t cry, 

and the boys all see the potential in little girls’ shoulders—

“you’re growing to be such a beautiful woman,” 

someone said that to me, and suddenly my eyes were wide open.

In rooms full of girls, they’re safe.

They look at the feminine swoop of my brow 

and the roses in my cheeks 

and subconsciously decide I can’t hurt them. 

I haven’t grown to be a man yet, but somehow I’m pleaded to fear what I’ll be, 

them, pretending I’ve grown to be a woman. 

Them, having everything I could want 

with the slightest dip of their neck. 

People that tell me without a second thought 

I will always be something I have never been, 

say my bones are constructed in a way my Lord tainted

with his own hands, 

unbiased and expecting,

waiting for me to do the work

and start my own life,

an 18 year old baby 

with testosterone already shot in his veins,

that type of person is the same whose day will be ruined when I dare to correct them 

and say they were wrong for once in their life, 

that they’re not the man they think they are, 

but I am.

I’m the type of man who scoffs at the saying “boys don’t cry” 

because I know better, 

I know that those boys don’t cry, 

but the ones with broken ribs from tissue shoved from chests into lungs 

might weep when their mommas tell them they can’t go to the hospital.

“If you didn’t want to be hurt, then why wear that stupid thing?”

Girls are smarter, 

you should have known better, 

deal with it like every woman before you—

commands from harsh, merciless voices, 

but don’t worry- they’re not talking about you. 

You’re not like them, of course, 

you’re not a real man. 

And we don’t think you’ll ever be. 

That’s why you should be grateful when we jump to say “they” 

because at least we’re giving you something.

I and the rest of the young Americans who are transgender youth,

we are the “threats” to American society 

for daring to strive for something the “normal, indoctrinated” teen 

has as a God-given right to

when God decided He could leave some people out.

We have been waiting all our lives for our lives to start, 

and we have been patient.

There is still time to fit into your own skin.

What I am isn’t being trans,

and what I have been isn’t something you need to know,

something I need to tell you when your eyes find my crotch,

curious, fascinated to know if you could still get game—

What I have been is tolerant,

when one of the only people to see and understand comes to me,

and without me even saying anything, wraps her hands around my shoulders 

and says, “I know. I know,”

the only thing my mother ever needed to say. 

What I will be is an artist,

I will take the words I’ve written, 

and I will make myself something beautiful.

There is still time.

It’s been four years now since I started changing.

Two since I first asked someone to try and understand.

Less since the last time they told me not to ruin the body God gave me.

Only now I’m shouting, 

begging not to be “too persistent” in your eyes,

begging that anyone who sees this forgets this,

gives me a fresh start as a new man,

and I’m hoping you’re smart enough to figure out I would never choose this. 

It’s not easier when my hands are twice as calloused as yours, 

and yours are still said to have worked harder.

Your hands will always be more beautiful 

than the one’s who had to earn them.

“Dolla Dolla”

Skye Reynolds ‘28

My poem delves into transgenderism and the pain caused by things others say and do. I wrote about how even though I am a teenage boy, I will always be separated from the other boys, based off of my body, and how it is a struggle to even be alive right now as someone unable to get transgender care. It makes me alien in a way that I will always want to hide, wanting to be able to express myself in the way almost anyone else could, but hopelessly unable to do so.

Edluckens Augusme ‘25

My inspiration behind this piece was trying to show the corruption within communities due to money. The reason the money is on the eyes is because people are so blinded by money that they fail to recognize the disconnect because of it. This is an ongoing issue that I wanted to display through this piece.