by Cameryn Barnett
is suffocating.
It’s impossible to breathe
When the world doesn’t believe
That you exist.
She writhes in my gut
And claws at my lungs
Gasping for her savior
To tell her she is real.
She wears chic heels
And a curly purple wig
And tries to stand
But I hold her down;
I push her head into the sand
After every headline
About how another trans person died
About how sports are gender segregated now
And another governor
Chose votes over our rights.
Again she tries to stand
And again I lock her up
Because it’s so much easier (for them)
If I just agree
To be the bigger man.
Cameryn Barnett is a poet, short story writer, and essayist living in South Carolina. They have been published in several student magazines at the University of Iowa, identify as gender fluid, (they/them pronouns) and are currently working on several anthologies.
