To the boys who call themselves Pinocchio

Your bodies feel wooden on the best of days, I know
Hollow and empty like your organs were plucked out
To make way for the strings in some stranger’s hands.

You ask your father if you are real and he responds
People like you the way you are
You never do get an answer and you realize
Even liberals are scared of change if you
Bring it close enough to them.

Eyes carved out, creaky jointed boys I see you.
I am you. Your hands pulling out your skin,
Your eyes looking at the beards of men and
Caressing your own jawline, your feet standing
In front of two bathrooms fearing both of them,
All of these are part of me too.

I promise you that blue fairy doesn’t care about
What’s in your pants, just about what’s in your heart
Don’t let them tell what you can’t be because
It’s what you already are.

To the boys who call themselves Pinocchio
You can be your salvation
You are the very same heaven you are wishing upon.

To the boys who call themselves Pinocchio
You are real to me.

By Noah Mendez

My name is Noah Mendez, I am 17 years old, FTM transgender, and bisexual. I bring flowers to their knees in the best sort of way and I am trying to find a standing in the writing community. I run a personal writing blog called noahbreakshisheartopen.tumblr.com and I’m hoping to gain traction with my writing brigade for the darker side of everything called subwaytunnelingbrigade.tumblr.com