Poem Twenty-One ~ Dear Zachary

Dear Zachary,
I promised I wouldn’t make a poem like this, after Hailey made her’s,
but I feel like I kind of have to?
I owe you these words.

Zachary, I started hormones recently.
Only about two months ago now.
We had no idea that someone could feel this good about themselves.
And oddly, I still hurt.
Though, it isn’t surprising.
There’s still a lot I have to do.

Zachary, I kept your middle name until I started hormones.
I was unwilling to give up the middle initial, but
I couldn’t keep the name forever.
And, unfortunately, like Theroux, Mira didn’t fit.
It’s Jade now, though.
I hope you like it.

Zachary, Mom accepts us now, though it took a while.
I know you never thought it would happen, but
we can talk about being sick openly with her.
She is starting to respect me, I think.
I wish she knew how to respect you.
Maybe you wouldn’t have been as fucked up.

Zachary, you starved to death.
What killed you is what gave birth to me, and
I still have trouble with it sometimes.
Often, you pop into my mind when my throat
tightens too much to swallow.
I wish you could give me any kind of strength.

Zachary, I came out to Gramma and Grandpa.
Though, I can never tell them we’re pansexual
(or demiromantic – that’s a thing now, by the way).
It went a lot better than we ever could have imagined.
Though, it sure helps that I didn’t need to pack
just in case I got kicked out.

Zachary, the world can be beautiful.
There’s beautiful people in it that you never got to meet.
It’s bittersweet.
You should have taken your meds instead of hiding it
under your tongue.
You never loved yourself, so you didn’t live long enough
to meet all the wonderful people that love me now.
I have a friend that let me stay in her house for three weeks!

Zachary, I wish that people loved you.
I wish that they didn’t take advantage of a scared boy,
I wish they didn’t convince you that you were only worth something
when they got you in bed and I wish they didn’t tell you
that you weren’t supposed to be me, because I love you
more than they ever did.
Guess who left them?
I did.

Zachary, part of me wishes you were here.
I’m glad you’re gone, though.
Because part of me is still an echo of you
that resonates with how painfully you thought of yourself.
That echo tells me I would be less valid with you here.

Dear Zachary, I am saying good-bye to you.
No one says your name anymore.



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