He writes boy on his leg
Etching the letters the world won't understand
Wishing the felt tip pen could
Break the gravestones on his chest
And fill the valley between his legs

He writes boy on his leg
It's a word kept secret in fear
He's a mustang learning his legs
And the world is a pack of vicious wolves
They don't know what to call him
Only he does

He writes boy on his leg
Takes a picture and sends it to the one he knows understands
The flash against his pale skin stark and bright
Like sleepy eyes against fresh snow

He writes boy on his skin
Because he can't write it anywhere else

Speaking softly to yourself.
She's in the room across the hall.
And you're afraid to cry if she hears you..
Just speaking what you're going to ask her.
"Mom, would you let me be a guy?"
And all of a sudden, your whisper is shaking
and tears of worry and shame slip down your cheeks

I feel more lost
And yet more found on this night
I pace in the mirror
pull out a pink sweater shirt
"If you like how you look in this, don't tell her"
I think as I pull it over my shoulders
I hate how I look...
It's not me.
Grab my skater jacket and cover up the pink
And then I smile. This is me.
I have to do it one way or the other.

A boy trapped by circumstances
Smirks at me with not only his lips
His eyes gleam confusion and vulnerability
And His heart aches for comfort and stability
There's mystery behind his words and sadness in his eyes
But perhaps his struggles will make him more than just wise
Words can't heal the wounds that the past has inflicted
Can't ease his pain, I feel helpless and constricted

"Hi. I uh was scrolling through the note section of my phone, looking for a song I had written awhile back, and I saw all of the notes I had written while we were together.
Some of them were funny things you said that I wanted to remember. Some of them were sweet things you said that I wanted to remember.
And yeah it was kinda hard seeing those, but I was fine you know? I got through that fine. But then I started seeing the stories I had written down. Stories of things I had done or seen. But I hadn't written them down for me.
They were stories to tell you later.
But this time I read through them and I, you know, chuckled and stuff at the different encounters with strangers or odd family members.
And there was just something really poetic about enjoying these stories myself. Stories that I had compiled for you.
And I just wanted to say that I think today was maybe the first big step in the long journey of getting over you. "