I don’t think I’ll make a real transvestite,
wear my heart in fire-engine heels,
and still walk straight, head high.
No, every morning, before I put on
my acceptable black pumps,
I cup the soles of my feet and
feel the weight of regret at
what I could never be: proud
and comfortable with my identity,
unafraid of being packed away in
the labels that would make
anyone craven, shirking
inside their own closets.

[this was a free write in gotpoetry.com's tag-team-poem project the first line from lordfuznut]

Welcome to my poetry blog. A collection of my own poems as well as those of other poets I admire. Enjoy.

Sa souvraya niende misain ye

(old tongue for “I am lost in my own mind.”)
–from Wheel of Time by Robert Jordan