To the lonely little blue boy
now floating dead on an ocean of apprehension and parted promises:
I want to thank you
to shake you
to tell you it will all be okay
no matter if I believe it myself
I want to wake you up
to nitpick your memories from nothing
and weave them into a cotton quilt of connected threads explaining the obvious

Break down the confusing feelings into easily digestible bites and spoon feed them to you
as I run my hands through your hair and whisper all the things I know you need to hear

And so
to the happy little blue boy proudly proclaiming his masculinity:
I’m sorry
I’m sorry if I killed you
if I sometimes block you out and pretend you never existed

And yet I long for you
For your distant far off memory of looking in a mirror and feeling proud
For your beach time wrestling matches and impervious pranks that never seemed to end well

For your carefreeness
and calmness
and wisdom
and gratitude
and rudeness, whininess and…

To the friendless little blue boy starting to spiral:
I want to YELL AT YOU
Or, no
I want to listen
I want you to tell me your feelings that were once mine
I want you to talk

To tell me everything I once felt like I’m hearing it for the first time
because maybe I am
Maybe I never learned how to speak
Maybe now that I’m not you
your voice can flow freely from my lips

And so
to the terrified teenage magenta boy that I share a body with:
I want you to know that
I’m scared
I’m scared of killing you

Scared of casting you so far into an ocean of apprehension and parted promises
that you become just another dead blue boy floating on your back
Or that I’ll want you back and have to face the hard truth that your death can’t be reversed

I want you to know that I love you
even if I don’t show it
Don’t look at you in the mirror
Say nice things to you when you‘re feeling sad
I love you
whatever you become

I love our sunset walks where the hues of orange and red embrace us
until we are back to being one

I love our passion
and caring
and times that seem to be gone in the blink of an eye yet are forever ingrained in our mind

I love that you’re with me
That you are who that little lonely blue boy washed up as

And so
to the possibility
of a pretty, perfect pink woman falling in my future:
I want to ask you
Do you regret it?
Is the artificial estrogen coursing through your veins worth it?
Do you ever think about that lonely little blue boy now bloated in the water
and wish you were him?
Wish you had stayed as him?
Never left him behind to drown?
Or have you learned to love him?

Taken the time to mix your colors and make a nice lilac
Learned to appreciate all the hues and painted poems in pinks and blues
Taken the ocean of apprehension and painted a lapis landscape
And when the fog rolled in harnessed the grays and learned to talk through tones and layering

And so
from the queer girl born blue
writing to you from a rough sea of uncertainty:

Good luck