Living In a Dumpster Fire

By Sawyer West-Toebe, 17, WI

The feeling, the sense, the being of despair. 

Despair of feeling decent, for once in my life.

The drowning feelings of disarray.

The sense of being in the wrong body.

The sense of being ”sick.”

The being of indifference. 

The being of isolation.

Trying to make sense of the 

raging dumpster fire swirling around 

My mind, clouding my thoughts, 

making it impossible to see clearly, 

to think clearly. 

Everyday, the fire fueled with gasoline.

The fire growing, consuming everything in sight in its intense fumes and flames. 

Glowing orange and red,

Saturating the pungent smell of smoke throughout my mind.

The thick smoke building a heavy weight on my chest.

Yelling, screaming, and shouting the same phrases over and over again trying to give myself some sort of reassurance.

“Something is wrong with me”

“Why am I the way I am?”

“I’m a boy. I’m a boy. I’m a boy…”

An internal warfare occurs in my mind;

My brain, constantly fighting itself. The smoke feeds off my fear, causing an asthmatic response in my lungs.

As I wheeze for air, the darkness grows despite the inferior hues. 

I try to fight back, but the flames overwhelm me.

They quickly overpower, setting every little thing ablaze. 

I start to think that I physically and emotionally can’t take it anymore, 

but I have to stay, maintain resilience of the hate

To show that I am more than a number, more than a percentage, and more than a name on a headstone.

Despite the indifference, I grow.

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I wrote this based on some experiences I have as a transgender male. It’s centered on gender dysphoria and how it feels mentally.

Instagram: @scrawniie

Photo by Pascal Meier