A funeral.
And what better way to make me feel even worse than to stuff me in a dress. I look at myself in the mirror, and this time, its twenty of those one hundred pound weights in my gut.
Pompeii in my feelings, destroying everything in its path.
I don't want to be like this. I want to be in my button-up and some slacks.
My mum looks at me, apparently, I'm the most beautiful girl she's seen. Joke's on you, I'm not a girl.
I'm the son they put in a dress and called their daughter. I feel that they were surrounding me by girly things so I wouldn't turn out like this. Well, mission failed, I'd say.
My heart aches at the thought of being stuck like this.
I don't know how I ever thought I could just Be A Girl™ like my parents wanted. Sometimes, I think that they didn't want a son.
Well, I don't want a girl's body, but here we are.
