Its 1 am
tv still blaring strong from the family room
loud and obnoxious making itself clear with
bright lights flaring over her head
she wishes it would dim and she
stares a computer screen straight in the face
searching relentlessly for comfort as if
typing in the right combination the right keys will
unlock some hidden mystery

she explores the websites about feminism and gender studies because
she’s trying to reclaim her soul
her lost power and
let it resurface
be bold
she’s just trying to discover who she really is,
underneath the layers of femininity where she hides
underneath it all
her real identity resides waiting for the right moment
to surface and set free so
for now she settles for dreaming,
dream big darling and it will all come true
they practice and they preach
just keep dreaming and everything will be okay
in the end

even though she’s lost and
her feet still ache to find the way and
her chest protrudes much more than she would like and
this body feels completely wrong because
there’s a much better one in sight if
she will just sit out the rain and
try her best to change instead of
obstinately conforming,
twisting and
contorting because
that’s
NOT
her,

it’s not her
it’s a stranger
this body feels foreign,
alien, its completely wrong
her ribcage rattles
her heart beats  
pounds like a bird
can you hear it cry?
warbling because that dress is too tight
not right with ruffles lining everything
an itchy feeling that just won’t go away and
a ****** she tries so hard to conceal
so bare
she shivers and
reaches for a sweater but that
doesn’t hang right either it
clings in all the wrong places and
digs in so she used ace bandage and adhesive tape
to compensate but
her efforts prove futile
just cut deeper
the hatred runs deeper until it
has carved a path and continues to erode old scars
gradually wearing away until salty granules remain

meanwhile
a stubby grimy hand craves the feeling of sharpness and
akimbo
slip into oblivion
let blackness take over
mess with her head
all it takes is the right amount of little round candies in
various shades of rainbow and
several purges,
spinning with white stars and
pyschadelic patterns flowing into shapes that could be spotted out of
a cheap kids kaleidoscope and then
just dark
eternal blackness
the nothingness
that haunts more than anything
worse than finding her corporal ****** defects
still there
more prominent than ever

maybe she’ll wake up and find
its all a dream
anyway we’re all dreams aren’t we but
they say her dreams aren’t right
who knows anything anyway? surely not
the ****** up government who
calls her a mistake and tries to
mask people like her and
conceal them from precious model citizens BUT
the government is ******* and
the people are angry anyway
if you’re not angry than something is wrong
if you don’t feel that you’re not alive
you’re just DEAD so
shut up with your conservative ******* and
stop traumatizing innocent people who
simply want their rights and a voice
to call their own

Littl men in three point hats have rapped my knuckles for asking why. Compensatory monster trucks parked in private spaces.

Gonna.show.who's. Boss.
Really kids, no real loss..