A poem addressing all unaccepting parents of transgender children

The moment you hold your newborn child in your hands

And them then something that means your whole life—

So one day

You can look down at the plant you grew and say

“I made this”…

But have you ever realized

Your child isn’t a plant

They are a tree

Their colorful blossoms and leaves shine gold

Under the broad daylight

In a flock of birds,

They attack the most colorful one out of all of them because being different is seen as a threat.

You cut cut off your child’s branches

Snipping away at the leaves,

Try to cut it down

But their roots stay strong

You will lie to your child,

And call the them a simple little plant

And they will put on a mask

By looking at other plants

Instead of their forest

Which you are always trying to burn

See the soul,

Not what carries the soul

The flesh upon your child’s subtle bones

Do not determine who they are

So in the garden,

Let your child be a forest

Not a damaged seed