He wakes up with teeth grinding, lightening bolts in his jaw
Crooked smile, broken as his home is and lonely in suffering
Each day when the cruel sun streaks in through cracked curtains
and he is reminded of a unique affliction, the asymmetrical torso
moreover, the scabrous flesh that adorns the arms and inner thigh
He feels morose and grotesque, as a woman could never be
Reflective avoidance, the mirror always covered when he stands to ****
Rheum still covers delicate eyes so accuracy goes out the window
and grumbling, stooping over, wiping the mess he sighs and makes wishes

How painful these days are to a man that prays for femininity
Stature and girth like a real man, though dreaming as a schoolgirl
Bristling stubble, adoration for his thick hair from envious men
Appeasing some latent homosexual desire,
but not enough to reciprocate adoration
The pain in his worn teeth is a constant reminder of ineffectual existence
and his shoulders ache every day, whilst legs are jelly and lose balance constantly
How cruel the lethargy can be, that some days he alters anatomy
at least in his own psyche, that ever fruitful imagination

So in lonely doledrum evenings when the mists set on cityscapes
the petty escape is worn, vibrant black ladies-wear, evening gowns
and wild high heels, posturing female attire for a tender soul
Corsets and tapes hiding unseemly masculine traits,
figurine madness, the make-up set meticulous and dynamic
Ruby red lips that eschew gender conformity and mascara mirrors the sky
She feels that warm embrace, spiritual in deep ****** chasms
Grasping for the apparently unattainable; magazine littered pictures on the tabletop
and her coarse fingers glide on silken garments, moonlight serenade on the speaker

How elegant the movie star madame, in this depression taken hold
A temporary release she clinches on to some beautiful image, forever in love
To be beautiful is to be happy and all women are beautiful, experience as a teacher
Funny how fatigue disappears once embellished in womanly garb
and funnier still that the aching head and rotting mouth are nil under blusher
Those nights can be liberating for a man of ennui and illness
Confusing though it may be, that such a man can attain such joy
and still feel devotion for every woman he loved, the fact still remains that
In the mirror she saw herself smiling and so she reasoned to turn the mirror the correct way up