the feminine body, the feminine aura
was glorious. and she wanted to be glorious.
she could see it real in her mind's eye,
          feel it there in her body's soul.
the ***** of Her spine as She arches Her back
the curve of Her hips
the softness of Her touch...

          and men...
well, she never did see men as glorious.
          never could, it wasn't so.
there was a certain admiration, she supposed,
          one could hold
                    for their figure,
the magnificence of the human body.
but that gloriousness,
          the kind found in the tenderness of Her kiss,
                                      in the strength of Her self,
          that, they lacked.

so that's not why she envied them,
          but envy she did.
the way their clothes fit,
          the way they could move,
                    the way she could not.
they held convenience, she guessed.
she guessed.
          is that what she wanted?
          just a body so convenient?

the body of Woman
          still surely was not
          surely it was not
          surely not on her.
it was imperfect on her,
its beauty dimmed down.
a costume ill-fitted that she couldn't tear off.
and convenient masculinity
a disguise too well made,
an impression ill-suited that wouldn't wear off.

she was wrong, she was wrong!
          boy, girl, what?
was she wrong?
she wanted to be beautiful!
          it was Woman she admired.
she was not, they called her "boy"
          but of that role, she'd long tired.
help!
what happens if you never find a place to stick?
acutely aware
that nothing will ever fit
someone, please, make a box
          and shove her into it.