They
look in the mirror and it is not right.
They
strive for perfection, and what’s reflected back doesn’t work for them.
They
aren’t comfortable being bound by boxes and binaries.
They
are themselves although that’s an intimidating place to be.
They
hold their ground and position with a ferocious stubbornness. Proven first, with their colicky 5-month cry-fest.
They
follow every rule at school, but with angst and woes over perfectionism and a comparison complex.
They
don’t think they are smart, even after seeing an almost all “A” report card.
They
don’t think they have friends, even though it appears they are well-liked.
They
hate their clothing and don’t feel like they “match”. Not the outfit, but their peers.
They
want to be liked and loved.
They
feel different, and frustrated by that.
They
work so hard to bottle everything up. Especially in front of others. They don’t feel safe anywhere else, but home, to come undone.
They
lean into that safety at home to check boundaries and consistency.
They
want to be completely seen, heard, held, and loved.
They
think their life is too difficult, and it’s only going to get harder.
They
are terrified of Trump and owners of apartment buildings.
They
are anxious and frightened about the climate crisis.
They
are sensitive, caring, and loving.
They
are bright beyond schoolwork.
They
are sunshine, smiles, and laughter.
They
are terrified, anxious, and overwhelmed.
They
know who they are, but they don’t know if people are ok with them.
They
care a lot about others’ approval, although seemingly to also give no fucks.
They
are almost 8, and I pray they live a long and happy life.
They
are loved, affirmed, and cared about.
They
have community and role models.
They
are my heart. They must live. They must not give up. They deserve to be a happy carefree kid.
They
are my child.
They are my baby.
By Sara Kaplan
The mother of an intersex child.
February 29th, 2020
Mx. Anunnaki Ray Marquez 