Quinn Arrington, Creative Writing Editor

Self-identification was a struggle growing up. 

All these typical phases I went through, yet none felt fitting. 

But somehow, it was as though I already knew who I was. 

That stranger who mistook me for a boy at the age of 11,

I can still feel the euphoric sensation,

But it still didn’t feel right.

I’m not a boy.

Then what am I?


I continued living my life as a girl.

It was what everyone knew me as,

so why would I burden them with something else?

Every time I was called a “she”,

Another girl telling me it was time for “Girl Talk.”

I repressed the burning feeling of discomfort.

I’m not a girl.

Then what am I?


It wasn’t until I reached my Sophomore year

That I even considered not being a girl.

When people told me they couldn’t tell

whether I was a boy or girl,

that sparked something.

The little voice in my head that tormented me for years.

It was silenced.

That’s who I was.


I wasn’t a girl, nor was I a boy.

It was something in the middle,

but also completely off the spectrum.

I was done feeling like a stranger

living in someone else’s body.

I spoke with people who felt the same way,

and after some research, I knew.

I knew who I was.