Emotional  powerful  message by a young Man to the GIRL he used to be..is a MUST watch.

A girl named Emily at 11 years old lost all hopes of living like a normal girl. She decides to hold on to hope until age 21 and embraces her new self. The man she wanted to be. Ethan Smith finally gauges the courage and steps out publicly and bids good bye to Emily the girl that he used to be in a 2.5 minute poetic message.

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Below is a link to this emotional yet beautiful video of Ethan Smith published  by Button Poetry followed by the full video transcript.

 

Summary of the video content :

Emily decided to live like a Man when she was 11  and undergone transition from FEMALE to MALE (Transgender). The new Man (Ethan) finally gauges the courage to say good bye to his inner female self (Emily).

Man Ethan had a 2.5 minute message to send his former self and shred with the audience in a powerful poetic message/letter  called” A letter to the girl I used to be”.

Ethan’s speech  brought tears to our eyes with his emotional recollection of suicidal thoughts like not hearing his/her former name at a college graduation and having the children he/she  once thought he/she would give birth.

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As per Ethan this is the emotional turmoil  a person had to go through in the process of transition from girl to boy and to get to where his is today. This is not an apology for transitioning as a transgender man. It’s not easy to let go of the life you once thought you’d live.

The emotional pain from day 1 to 2 month and so on…he goes through he narrated hear will make you to think deeply.

The final word, “I  never hated you? Will touch deep your emotion and  may bring tears in any one eyes watching this video.

This message was delivered as part of poetry competition in Boulder Colorado U.S by Ethan.. Thank you, Ethan Smith, for not being afraid to share your truth .There are millions of supporters behind you now.

 TRANSCRIPT of the Video:

Dear Emily,

Every time I watch baseball a voice I no longer recognize whispers “Ethan, do you remember?

When you were gonna be the first girl in the major leagues- Seattle Mariners. Rally cap.”

To be honest, Emily, I don’t. Dad told me that like it was someone else’s bedtime story.

 

But I know you had that drive, didn’t let anyone tell you to wear shorts above your knees

didn’t care if boys thought your hair fell on your shoulders just right but with girls

sleepovers meant the space between your shoulder and hers was a 6-inch fatal territory.

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The year you turned eleven was the first time you said out loud that you didn’t want to live anymore.

In therapy you said you wouldn’t make it to 21. On my 21st birthday I thought about you, you were right.

 

At nineteen you started to fade. I tried to cross you out like a line in my memoir I wished I could erase completely. And maybe I’m misunderstanding the definition of death but even though parts of you still exist you are not here-most of my friends have never heard your name until now.

 

I’ve been trying to write this letter for six months. I still can’t decide if it should be an apology or not.

But now you will never hear “Emily Smith” announced at a college graduation, get married, have children.

 

I made the appointment, to let a doctor remove your breasts so that I could stand up straighter.

Now even if I somehow had those children, I wouldn’t be able to nourish them.

My body will be obsolete, scarred cosmetic, but never C-section.

I was four days late they will never be grandparents I was one week late they will never hold their lover’s sleeping figure.

I was eleven days late they will never breathe in a sunset and sunrise in the same night.

I was two weeks late they will never learn to jump rope.

I was three weeks late they will never shout “Watch Mommy! Watch me on the slide!

I was two months late. A piece of us will never wrap their arms around our leg for comfort, or just to keep them from falling down.

 

And I am, sorry, that this process is so slow and all you can do is wonder if you ever had a place.

You did.

You still do.

Don’t forget that.

 

Yours,

Ethan

p.s. I never hated you.

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