by AJ

I wish my gender didn’t dictate who I was, that they knew “AJ.”

I wish they knew my name, “AJ.”

When they use “his” name, it hurts like a punch to the gut.

When people call me my name, I smile as they call me, “AJ.”

“Would you like you read, AJ?” Butterflies swirl.

A smile brandishes my face hearing the name “AJ.”

With eyes closed, I have to say to those who won’t accept me. “It doesn’t work.” “I hate that name.” They don’t like “AJ.”

I’m ready.

I don’t care anymore.

This is who I am, you should never try to change that.

AJ is what I’ve decided, it’s who I am.

I don’t want “him” to come back, here and queer. It’s “AJ.” Breathless. Silent.

No longer.

I won’t stick to the binary. You can’t make it that way. I won’t listen.

AJ is loud and proud.


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