dear mustache, i used to hate you because of how dark and prominent you were against the almost pallor of my skin
people would make fun of me for you in middle school especially but kids are mean and i stood out in more ways than my mustache that would have been more fitting on a prepubescent teenage boy than an angry lesbian
i was shamed into waxing you away which hurt so much the first time that i almost cried but what hurt more than the hot wax was my father whose genes gifted me with darker and coarser hair always encouraging me to bleach you away into an acceptable shade of invisible
and then when a switch was thrown inside my body that had been crying out from the still tender age of seven that my being called a girl was wrong wrong wrong
you were there still having always come back after the wax and bleach
but that fine line of hairs above my upper lip you made me feel more masculine you made me hate myself less
you make me feel more masculine you make me hate myself less