Build.
I was told that woman are made to build.
But wait...
What if I told you that my gender identity was as messy as raindrops as they hit the ground?
What if the only thing I can build are stanzas in some wanna be poem.
Yes, I do have a ****** but I bind my ******* so tightly I cannot tell the difference between breathing,
And a panic attack.
I am not a woman.
I am not the type.
I am your type.
When I am asked what I would like to be when I grow up,
Isn't it sad that that the first thought that occupies my mind is,
"I want to be a man.."
My mother pushed out her precious baby girl and keep in mind I had a brother.
Have a brother.
*** and gender are two completely different things, darling.
When someone asks what I want to be when I get older,
I will say a carpenter.
Because at least then I can build myself to be a man.
From the ground up.
But for now I will have to settle for pecks made out of metaphors,
And the thought of a ***** as long as my lyrics.
Would you still love me if I was a man?
If not,
Then have fun choking on my poetry.