Writer's Workbook #22

#22 Dysphoria

How does it feel to disconnect

from your own skin?

To look at yourself and say

“This body is not mine”?

To see the traits you were born with

and know they weren’t for you?

It feels foreign, and wrong.

It is a being unfamiliar to you

despite having known it your whole life.

To want to escape your own body

and replace it with one that feels right

Is the greatest dream of some.

How does it feel when someone calls you

the wrong name?

You’ve told them time and time again

the right name

the better name

and they know.

They know that name, and refuse to use it.

How does it feel when someone

refers to you with the wrong pronoun?

They know what is right

they know what makes you comfortable

And they ignore it.

It feels like you’ve gone numb

and you have lost all trust.

They don’t make an effort to better their ways

and it’s a dagger in your heart.

I walk the world, open and out

to the people of the universe.

And the ones that care most

are the ones who know the right words

and use them.

I have ones I love dearly

that disregard me every day

and I’ve lost touch.

How does it feel when someone

shows they care?

When someone has the right name

the right pronoun

respects the struggle with your body?

It feels like they hung the sun

just for you

and you know, truly know,

who cares and loves you greatest.

Writer's Workbook #21

#21 It wasn't her fault.

“It’s not fair!” she yelled, slamming her door shut. “Everyone blames me for everything!” She flopped down onto her bed and screamed into her pillow to try and release some energy. She rolled over to her back and glared at the ceiling, hot angry tears spilling over her cheeks. She didn’t mean to break the vase. She was just trying to show her brother how to throw a ball, and the vase was in the way. She had tried to aim away from it, but the ball had hit and smashed her mother’s expensive clay vase.

It’s not my fault, she tried to convinced herself. If the stupid vase hadn’t been in the way, I wouldn’t have hit it. If Jeffery didn’t need to know how to throw a ball then I wouldn’t have hit it. If mom didn’t collect so many expensive vases then the vase wouldn’t even have been there for me to hit. She cried some more out of self pity, realizing how she was in the wrong. If I had thrown the ball outside like I was supposed to then I wouldn’t have hit the vase.

She wanted to leave her room and tell her mom she was sorry, and that she wouldn’t throw any balls in the house any more, but was afraid she’d get in trouble for coming out before she was supposed to. She felt a little helpless, and was ready to cry some more when the door opened. “Sweetie?” her mother asked. “Can I come in?” She nodded and sat up. Her mom walked in and sat next to her on the bed. “Sweetie, I-”

“I’m sorry Mom!” she cried, cutting her mom off. “I shouldn’t have thrown the ball inside the house! I didn’t mean to hit the vase, I’m sorry.” She was crying even more now, but her mother smiled down at her.
“It’s okay sweetie, I forgive you. Thank you for being such a big girl and apologizing to me.” Her mom hugged her tight and kissed her forehead.

Writer's Workbook #20

#20 The dusty, old book was sitting there, just begging to be read.

The problem with being under five feet tall and an avid reader was the fact the all the good books were on the top shelf. Well, that and every librarian tried to direct me towards the children’s area, but mainly the first issue. This time I had my sights on an old, thick novel. It had a dusty green jacket, worn edges, and mouse-eaten pages. The paper was yellowed and looked as if it would crumble the second it came into contact with human skin. The title on the spine was silvery and hand painted, but so faded that I couldn’t read it. Despite that, I knew this book was for me. I needed to get my hands on it and open to the first word, needed to absorb the words off its pages and delve into its story. The dilemma was getting the book.

I could barely touch the bottom of the fifth shelf, and the book I wanted was on the very top twelfth shelf. I entertained the notion of scaling the shelf to reach the book, but decided against it as I didn’t want to get kicked out of my favorite library. There weren’t any wheely ladders nearby, which would have been the optimal solution, but there was a stack of thick encyclopedias lying on the floor. I carefully pushed them over to where the book was, then went to grab more encyclopedias and dictionaries and other thick, dense books. I stacked them like stairs, hoping I could reach the book I needed through my improvised idea.

Now, I don’t weigh very much, but books aren’t exactly made to support the ridiculous proportions of the human body.

Writer's Workbook #19

#19 What makes you proud to be an American?

America is home of the free and land of the brave. Free rights are offered to all-unless you’re different. Excuse me while I break the fourth wall, but are you a cis, heterosexual person? Congratulations, you don’t have to receive any backlash as to your identity. I happen to be a queer person, who identifies a little differently. I have to deal with issues such as: transphobia, bigotry, and misogyny. I’ve been lucky enough to come out to a large number of my peers and have them be accepting, but there are many people who still refuse to call me by my correct name and pronouns. Names aren’t so hard (though some still insist on calling me by my birth name), but for some reason pronouns are a tricky subject. I use they pronouns, and have been told, and I quote, “You are one person, and that is plural”. Singular they has, in fact, been used since the fourteenth century by playrite artists such as Shakespeare. It is a valid pronoun to use for one person, so the argument that it is solely for plural use is incorrect.

Bigotry isn’t exactly a hard issue to correct, if the bigot is willing to listen. Sometimes bigotry is ignorance and education is a a very simple way to fix that. However, there are some people that still refuse to acknowledge any identity they don’t like. Excuse me, but my lack of attraction is none of your business, and you do not get a say in whether asexuality exists or not.

Despite being nonbinary, I still have to deal with the day-to-day effects of misogyny. Sexist comments from students and having to see objectifying images are virtually inescapable. The hatred against femininity can be overwhelming at times (who needs a woman in a skimpy bikini to sell a hamburger?) and it can affect men as well, with the expectations that they cannot be feminine and have to be Mr. Macho Man. I am just plain sick and tired of having to see half naked people in every single advertisement. I am far too asexual for this.

I am proud to be an American because America is a beautiful country with wonderful

landmarks and a rich history (though it does involve the slaughter of many other races), but the overwhelming inequality makes me ashamed.  

Writer's Workbook #18

#18 Who is the best role model in your life?

I don’t have a set role model in my life. I can’t find anyone that sticks out bright and clear with actions I wish to emulate. I can see the appeal of having a mentor that helps with issues and acts in a way I want to act, but I don’t have anyone in my life to play that role.

The kind of person I would want as a role model would be kind hearted and know how to treat people, but able to be firm and stand by what they believe in. I want to be like someone that is generous and thinks of other people first, someone that is able and willing to help and does so without thinking twice. I want be like someone that thinks similar to how I do, and shares my morals. I would want to have a close relationship with my role model, so that they could act as a mentor for me and teach me how to leave a positive influence behind on the world.

Writer's Workbook #17

#17 Write about your definition of success.

Success is not just about making it big in the world. It is not becoming a famous entrepreneur, or a rich celebrity. Success is a personal thing. It is someone feeling accomplished in their actions and satisfied with the mark they have left on the world, no matter how small it may be. A person who did something as little as hand a sandwich out to a homeless is successful, because their small action left a positive imprint on that person the sandwich was given to.

True success is in making the world a better place, in any way someone can. It is trying hard to achieve a goal, and persevering despite the unavoidable failures. It is found in anything from little projects to large-scale productions, and easier to achieve in some circumstances than in others,  but it means just as much in every situation.

Writer's Workbook #16

#16 As I approached the deserted house at the end of the road, I saw...

It looked as any deserted house should-broken down, peeling paint, missing roof shingles, a few broken windows. As I approached, I saw that there was a single tree in the front yard of the house. It had bright green leaves and strong, thick branches. No other plant life grew in the sandy dirt surrounding, and I wondered how the tree managed to to remain healthy for so long. Maybe someone in the town nearby took care of it, but why the tree and not the house? I finally reached the tree and walked around it. The trunk was wide, and the bark was thick with layers. On one side, I found a couple carvings in the wood. There were random hash marks, names, and carved initials surrounded by hearts. It appeared to be the tree where couples liked to make their marks.

“Appreciating the old thing?” a voice said behind me. I started a bit and turned around before answering.

“Yeah, I’ve never seen such a big tree by an abandoned house before. I was just looking at the carvings.”

The old man that had approached me smiled kindly and walked up to the tree. “Many memories are with this tree. It’s been around longer than I have.”

“Do you know who tends to it?” I asked. “It obviously doesn’t stay this well kept on its own.”