I have never been good at bottling up my emotions so I dressed them up pretty. I learned to cover up my scars who knew this skin could perform magic, to make up for my short comings I learned to love. I learned to love you in glitter and stardust.
I learned to love you in ways I knew how but sometimes my masculinity lacks a spine, my hands are two little girls in the wrong neighborhood. My voice is a missle launcher...my heart is black as my mother's fire pot
