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?