Queer in Healthcare

the first class they taught: their own.
the kids wriggled in their seats,
fidgeting with anything in reach.
this emotionally agonizing demand of them:
to share their deepest introspection,
disenchanted their peers.
it wasn’t for them anyway.
first, second, third grade teachers
abandoned their classrooms
to band together at the door,
uniting, as though a herd,
exhibiting the group-mind
that drives masses to do unreasonable things-
like inch closer and closer to this mockery:
an explanation of inner self-identity.
delivered by a six year old.
we spend our first five years
constructing our sense of self.
at six, we bring it to the attention of others.
newly equipped with our own awareness,
from society, our self-conscious is fed
either pride or shame.
their school, in its entirety,
force-fed them shame,
piping hot, on rusty pitch forks.
they silently screamed affirmations of
their inability to fit the mold
saliva infecting their pure, smiling face.
their esteem, before being locked into
these torturous hate-filled walls,
was built so high.
they were free, happy to live
their true self and so loud.
Now, silence fell heavy upon each
and every
space they entered.
we. fought. back.
i. fought. back.
seven years until your own child
even tires of you.
mom, i’m fine,
just stop.
i watch kids die now
all the time.
kids just like you.
they’d been asking for help.
never uttering an, “i’m fine,”
in their far too short lives.
none of this has ever been,
will ever be,
about me.
i’m lucky to make it into a chapter.
i’m not trans.
i’m not nonbinary.
i’m not a teenager.
i’m not bullied.
i’m not unsafe.
i am scared.
i am heartbroken.
and
i won’t stop fighting.
section of their speech in front of their class:
(bracketed words have been changed for privacy purposes.)
“I am [me]. That means that I think I was born in the wrong [time]. I have always felt like
a [child]. I dress like a [child], but that’s not it. I want you to think of me as a [child].
Many of you don’t know how hard it is to go through this but I want you to know that
every day is a struggle. All I ask of you is to please just think of mea as a [child]. And
respect my feelings.”
🕯 in memory of Nex Benedict.
to those who came before and those who will certainly come after,
i’m so sorry we are still failing you. you’re never alone and you’re loved beyond
measure. i’m fighting for you.