The clothes I wear,
The appearance I keep,
It is not me!
And at times, as if I'm a cross-dresser I wear clothes made not for I.
Cloths of contentment,
Material of merriment,
Fabrics of fulfilling delight.
All sewed together by a needle of negativity.
By thread of tranquilizing pain and depression.
I cross from sad to happy only in appearance.
Only after dressing into clothes not meant for me can the smile on my masked face be renewed.
When will the cross-dresser I am cease to be me?