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.