Locks for locks
and chicken pox,
a childish fit
for childish thoughts

Left for dead
left, right, red,
confused with age
but young in head

Youth will yield to age.
Truth will tell all rage,
hidden in a heart,
hidden in your art.

Expressed without much thought,
emotion caught off guard.
Perhaps your mask needs healing,
facades that must be peeling.

And still I'm feeling lost
Myself, my own, my frost
My cold demeanor falls.
They say, "Just grow some *****."

For gender dictates most,
and blenders will play host
to mixing and to matching
pretending I am acting,
pretending I exist.