Is there a place for "the other," "the different," or "the misfit"? If so, which box do I fall into? Being transgender has affected me in every aspect of my life: love, family, personal, and my belief systems. Growing up a twin, I always compared how I looked. She was girly and embraced femineity, whereas I didn't. We were always close, and to this day we are just as close as when we were born. She told me, "I'll always love you, blue or pink", and that confirmed her unconditional love. We may not be identical, but we share the same love for each other. When I was younger I knew there was something wrong with me. A toy truck in a pile of Barbies, a blue crayon in a field of pink, a boy in girls' clothing. Nothing was more terrifying than knowing I was different and being scared to admit it. This reality is that the boxes society has created weren't built for people like us. Maybe sometimes we need to make our own spaces in society for there were never spaces for us to begin with. Just because the world didn't include us doesn't mean we don't belong. After 8th grade, I decided living an artificial life wasn't an option, I had to be me- Lane. The day I cut my hair was the day the color came back. The scissors cut through my facade, an identity I took hold of for comfort. There was a weight on my shoulders I couldn't bear to carry. She snipped and snipped. I looked in the mirror and I saw him- in all the weird shapes he was built, he was me, weirdness and all. In a world of grey, the color came chasing back, who knew the sky could be so blue? There is an unfortunate reality: many trans people don't get to live. In my 7th-9th grade school year, I was severely depressed, but no one noticed. I went unseen and invisible; I was alone. Conversations grew around me, like planes flying, but none ever landed on me. I was a ghost in a school I never meant to haunt. Many days I thought dying was equivalent to this feeling. On days when I was noticed, it was never for the right reasons. I was nothing more than a person taking up space for normality. High school wasn't easy; I struggled with anxiety and depression during the pandemic. Teachers and classmates would stare, and it made high school a difficult place to be in. Being transgender was the only thing I could think about- how can I fit in, is there a world where I'm not some misfit? Our current political climate hasn't made things better. I find that people stare more often, and that feeling of younger me crawls back. Despite everything in my younger years, there was an inkling of hope, something I clutched and never let go of. Poetry helped me crawl out of my shell, it was like light to a flower- it helped me grow into a person younger me wouldn't be able to recognize. I competed in slam poetry and found my confidence, I found myself in a way I never thought imaginable. I'd like to think I'm living, not surviving anymore. Through art of words, and creating new goals I have started to find myself in a world of color. I've realized the world wasn't made or prepared for a person like me. So, no I will carve a box for others and I. A home I always wanted- or needed.

Is there a place for "the other," "the different," or "the misfit"? If so, which box do I fall into? Being transgender has affected me in every aspect of my life: love, family, personal, and my belief systems. Growing up a twin, I always compared how I looked. She was girly and embraced femineity, whereas I didn't. We were always close, and to this day we are just as close as when we were born. She told me, "I'll always love you, blue or pink", and that confirmed her unconditional love. We may not be identical, but we share the same love for each other. When I was younger I knew there was something wrong with me. A toy truck in a pile of Barbies, a blue crayon in a field of pink, a boy in girls' clothing. Nothing was more terrifying than knowing I was different and being scared to admit it. This reality is that the boxes society has created weren't built for people like us. Maybe sometimes we need to make our own spaces in society for there were never spaces for us to begin with. Just because the world didn't include us doesn't mean we don't belong. After 8th grade, I decided living an artificial life wasn't an option, I had to be me- Lane. The day I cut my hair was the day the color came back. The scissors cut through my facade, an identity I took hold of for comfort. There was a weight on my shoulders I couldn't bear to carry. She snipped and snipped. I looked in the mirror and I saw him- in all the weird shapes he was built, he was me, weirdness and all. In a world of grey, the color came chasing back, who knew the sky could be so blue? There is an unfortunate reality: many trans people don't get to live. In my 7th-9th grade school year, I was severely depressed, but no one noticed. I went unseen and invisible; I was alone. Conversations grew around me, like planes flying, but none ever landed on me. I was a ghost in a school I never meant to haunt. On days when I was noticed, it was never for the right reasons. I was nothing more than a person taking up space for normality. High school wasn't easy; I struggled with anxiety and depression during the pandemic. Teachers and classmates would stare, and it made high school a difficult place to be in. Being transgender was the only thing I could think about- how can I fit in, is there a world where I'm not some misfit? Our current political climate hasn't made things better. I find that people stare more often, and that feeling of younger me crawls back. Despite everything in my younger years, there was an inkling of hope, something I clutched and never let go of. Poetry helped me crawl out of my shell, it was like light to a flower- it helped me grow into a person younger me wouldn't be able to recognize. I competed in slam poetry and found my confidence, I found myself in a way I never thought imaginable. I never expected to make it to college, but now I'm happily a nursing major at Worcester State University. For the first time in a while I'm excited for the future- to help people like me, those who feel different or unwell. Being a nurse is much more than helping people, but healing that part of me that needed the help I never got. Becoming a nurse isn't a want, it's a need. Since childhood, I've searched for belonging, in a society where I was deemed a misfit. But now, I see it differently- I was never the issue, but the world was. So, I will continue to carve and mold my own space in this world and create space for others like me, filled with color, poetry, and most importantly, purpose. And for the first time, I'm not a ghost, I don't exist- I belong.