
<p class="wp-block-paragraph">A word from the poet: Hello, my name is Aaryn, I’m sixteen and use he/him pronouns. My twitter handle is @Apricotbuncakes and my wattpad (where I post my poetry) is @apricotbuncakes.This poetry is about my experience as a trans man, specifically being told I’m not a real guy. <em>Trigger Warning: Transphobia, T-slur, mentions of vomiting</em>. </p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">“The Lies a Can of Soup Can Tell”</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">I have been eating bowls of lies my whole life. ;</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">My bowl of alphabet spaghetti spelled out the words &#8220;YOU ARE A GIRL&#8221;</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">Or&#8230; maybe that was my parents. It&#8217;s hard to tell when the words have been shoved down my throat. My face messy with pasta sauce (or are those tears?).</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">Either way, something is in my eyes, and I can no longer see myself in the mirror, and the blurry image of the nutrition facts makes out a small paragraph of why the words I just ate are true (and I&#8217;m wrong for thinking otherwise).</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">It&#8217;s funny. Everyone around me must assume that I can&#8217;t feed myself, because I find that these words keep getting forced down to my stomach. And then another person sees me and feeds me more, continuing the cycle.</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">&#8220;YOU CANT BE A BOY&#8221;</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">&#8220;BASIC BIOLOGY SAYS YOURE A GIRL&#8221;</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">&#8220;XX&#8221;</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">&#8220;FUCKING TRANNY&#8221; ;</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">Well guess what! Those words didn&#8217;t change the fact that I&#8217;m a boy, and have been thrown up and back out, my body rejecting what you say and tried to force me to conform to.</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">I am not hungry for something sour, uncooked, and frankly unoriginal in terms of bullying.</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">I long for my dessert, covered in blue sprinkles, because now that I have made room, I can clean my face, and finally make out who I am in the mirror, and I can see what I want.</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">I want blue sprinkles on my cake, and icing shaping the letters &#8220;He&#8217;s a boy&#8221; in beautiful calligraphy letters.</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">But it would be rude of me not to share.</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">Oh? You don&#8217;t like this flavor?</p>



<p class="wp-block-paragraph">Sorry! Guess you&#8217;ll just have to suffer. Open wide!</p>



<figure class="wp-block-image size-large"><a href="https://rockthepigeon.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/325A79DCDF684160BF564C9C26FCD852.png"><img src="https://rockthepigeon.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/03/325A79DCDF684160BF564C9C26FCD852.png" alt="" class="wp-image-12505"/></a></figure>