My parents never read me bedtime stories
Out of everything I can’t remember from my childhood, all that I can muster up is what was missing
From a young age I was showered, not with love but with money I felt we didn’t have
I remember crying from being stuffed into frilly dresses and tiaras for Halloween while my older brother was a made up killer who roared with excitement
It wasn’t until the darkness overrun the day when I felt the most isolated
Sitting in a pink room with dolls littering the floor as the ceiling became my mind’s canvas
My parents pride and joy
Their first and only princess left to inherit the kingdom while my brother left to achieve greatness
It started as conjured up stories of damsels in distress where the Ken came to the rescue until I felt as though I needed to be blonde like Barbie to achieve such a thing
To the time I felt an underlying annoyance of “strong boys” who were called to help lift chairs as I felt the ache of being needed
Stereotypes of boys having cooties and girls focusing on their newest crush were my only worries as my imagination filled in the gaps of experiences I missed out on
It wasn’t until I reached my 12th birthday where my mind started to wander into ideas that were forbidden
Like a secret I shared within my bedroom walls, the what if of being a boy and not a girl
It wasn’t long before I researched, scouring the internet in search of people who felt the same as I
I felt a piece of myself click in place as if it were missing and it embraced me whole
A feeling of belonging, but it didn’t last
I dared utter the idea to my parents, to which they shoved the idea down and buried him alive, locking him away with those thoughts
He fought and cried, struggling and punching the wooden casket in attempts to be free
He didn’t fit into the plot they’d already written for me
He laid there motionless, frozen with betrayal and covered in tears
Time seemed to lose meaning as everyone moved on without him
The casket became smaller and smaller, intending to suffocate and burn the idea out
The boy almost gave in, until he heard the dirt above him disturb the stillness
Hands clawed their way to him and pulled the wooden prison out from the earth
An outstretched hand beckoned him out, where hundreds of those who went through the same experience awaited his return
Ultimately continuing the plot of his story he believed was already lost
So no, my parents never read me bed time stories
But it only fueled the light inside me to write my own to prevent others like me from ending theirs too soon
Author’s Note:
This poem describes the hardship and strain that coming out as transgender has on a child and parent relationship when no support is provided, along with the feeling of euphoria of finding a family who accepts you as you are. In some cases, like my own, parents could suppress the idea and pretend it doesn’t exist at all to avoid confrontation with the topic. My friends are what helped me climb out of my casket and the acceptance I had helped me push through. Now I want to help those who have been buried for finding themselves through the darkness so many of us have endured before.
Oliver Martinez | 16 | Pasco, WA | @ollrion_ on Instagram
