Andrew White

of the topics above will burn you, I respect your decision to step away. Actually, I admire you—I’ve never been so careful.

Sometimes I pretend my fear is a little rabbit in my chest. It’s the sort of rabbit my brother’s school tests their techniques on, with grey fur and dark eyes, and it hides underneath my sternum beside the heart

Flesh and bone make more sense to me than the people they add up to.

How cruel is it, that I only get to be myself as a costume? I do not get to savor the masculine cut of my clothes, or the illusion of short hair, or the fleeting joy of my skin feeling like mine. Instead, I have to worry if my boyhood is convincing enough to keep me safe.

I peel at the edge of the world around the piece of statue. It comes too easily. With just a gesture, the world ripples the way a puddle would when you step into it, thrums like the bobbing of a swallowing throat

There are lots of things my family shouldn’t have done to me

When I see my body through Mrs. Forrester’s eyes, it’s misshapen. It’s ugly

I want to peel off all my skin, if only so I could be anything other than a naked body, something horrifying instead of vulnerable. Nobody looks at a pig corpse and thinks it could be made beautiful

It is only when I step back to see it all through another’s eyes that I want to unravel it and carve the meat into a new, different, more acceptable shape. The only thing that will ever matter is how others see you

To separate how you are seen from who you are sometimes feels nigh impossible