#FreedomFriday vol. 1: IDENTITY

#FreedomFriday

In this issue, we have more beautiful poetry from Danny Steele and stunning artwork from Sophie Victoria Rowe accompanying a heartfelt essay from Finn McCarty about body image, being transgender, and fighting to find who he truly is.

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the death of an old story

you sit now. right here with my friends, blame, shame and fear
they are here chatting away
you should know they talk a lot, they will do all day
love them all.
embrace them all.
The light of all is the soul of one,
the soul of one is the one i am
Embrace death, the death of an old story
with a smile with acceptance and grace
for it’s not often we look at death and laugh squarely in it’s face.

by Danny Steele

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‘S E L F L O V E’ by Sophie Victoria Rowe 
Instagram: @sophievictoriaroweart

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Mirror

I wake up on an island, completely isolated from the world I thought i knew so well. I’m looking out onto the horizon, and when the fog clears, I spot a silhouette in the distance. I try to call out, but it feels as if my voice has been chained to the bottom of my constricting throat. After wrestling with the sinking sand for an eternity, I spend another falling to my knees. The silhouette of the man I should be plunges into the water with me, and when I open my scorching eyes, he cracks a wicked smile and whispers, “You will never be me.”

I’m beginning to lose count of how many times I’ve stopped and questioned myself. How many times I’ve shot out of bed with my heart in my throat and my body a shaking mess because I couldn’t slow down my train of thought. I couldn’t stop it from going off course and plummeting straight into the inevitable. I can never seem to shake off this feeling of static, especially when I’m in front of a mirror. If I let that train run too long, like when I think about the inevitable, I begin to crumble. I’m constantly obsessing over those curves and edges- ones I know so deep down shouldn’t be there at all. 

I spent most of the seventh grade trying to mimic what the girls in my school were wearing. My grandma had previously given me a bunch of her old makeup, and from time to time I would dreadfully attempt to apply it in a way that was similar to the trends I had noticed. It was as evident as a zebra on a horse farm that I had no idea what I was doing, or why I was doing it. I felt like an idiot down to every last moment. I was jealous to the core of how natural it was for the other girls to walk around flawlessly and with ease, as if they weren’t fighting back tears when they wore dresses. I was trapped in this void of lost dignity, and little did I know that I wasn’t alone. 

Come eighth grade, I was still as lost as ever, but getting my first super-short haircut made me the most confident I had been in a while. But of course, being the intensely negative person I was – and sometimes, still am – it eventually came crashing down on me. When the daily bouts of extreme depression and anxiety dawned on me, I would push my dark purple dyed hair over my eyes and pray for eternal sleep. I sunk lower and lower in my ocean, and soon enough I was hitting the bottom. Soon enough it was the one horrendous day when I held a knife in my hand and sobbed as I scratched the surface of my skin.

The realization struck me right there and then, when I began to cut at my breast tissue: I was not a girl.

When I’m asked about it, there’s nothing I can do but put on a fake smile and say, “I’ve always known.” I never talk about the years of pain; the pain I still feel from time to time. The fear of rejection. The universal fear of the unknown. I still fear that I will never reach my goal to this day. All I want is to be the man I was meant to be, before my time on this puzzling planet is up.

But lately, as I’ve been slowly swimming my way back to shore, I see millions of my brothers and sisters trapped in the wrong body. I am not alone, and neither are you. We are who we are, and what we look like on the outside makes no difference.

No matter what body I’m in, I am Finn. And I am a boy.

by Finn McCarty

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I saw you today

I saw you today
I saw your aliveness today
you’re alive with aliveness
you who i see on the bus, a face in the clouds
your voice in the raindrops that fall on my face
the heat of the sun and you are there
i see your soul when i look inside myself
i feel your heart
you are there and yet….you are not
you, who has lived many lives
you who will continue to do so
i miss you darling


by Danny Steele

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‘C L I M B’ by Sophie Victoria Rowe

Instagram: @sophievictoriaroweart

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Thank you for reading this week’s issue of #FreedomFriday. To submit your words or artwork for next week’s issue ‘SELF-CONFIDENCE’, please email tomlin.bethany@gmail.com.

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