You’ll
never find a boy
If
you don’t grow your hair out.
No,
mom, I’ll never find a boy
if I let it grow.
The boy’s inside me,
has
been, screaming, wailing to be
released,
to be me. You torture him
with
expectations, dresses and frills
not
realizing he’s your son.
We
support you, they say.
Support
and understanding
are
two different ideas,
you’ve
mixed them up.
I’m
afraid.
Be
yourself there’s no one
else
to be. Slow down,
girl, you’re
rushing.
How
do you rush becoming
yourself
when you’ve waited
twenty
years?
I
finally met him.
Shook
his hand and said hello,
he’s
polite, funny, kind, loving,
passionate,
he’s me.
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