in someone's house, there's a photograph
it's framed by the front door, almost on display
it's there for visitors to see and believe
and I'm not quite sure how they fall for it.

in the photo is a happy family
a daughter, a mom, and a dad
all smiling and loving and caring and happy.
they see cheery, normal people.
hey deceived they must feel.

but the girl? she was a boy.
she was he who wasn't himself.
he was confined to a body of all pink and bursting with estrogen
he was she who was he who was trapped
and his father hated him.

yelling and shouting "christina! christina!"
tears falling like dumbbells on unsuspecting toes
"chris! chris!" he'd yell back
but only in his brain
because the daddy-daughter dances
had already been attended.

bruises from beatings that couldn't be healed
but the happy photo still hung in the hall
and even as chris watched the rings go
from left hands to right he still hid behind
that perfect, happy family.

and the people failed to see through it.