She

She dances in the dark,
Internalizes pain.
She constructs the parts
And brushes her mane.

She pretends it’s fine.
She can be the man.
She knows every line.
Yes, she understands.

The parts already hers.
She can walk, talk and grunt.
Her butch cars, they purr.
She can learn to hunt.

But it’s so unnatural.
The performance false.
And what is factual?
Her female heart’s pulse.

She must be honest.
Recall who she was
Before she was lost
In the land of Oz.

She will now grow her hair,
Learn the art of make up,
Will care what to wear,
And, daily, play dress up.

And people may stare,
Say odd things out loud.
But she will not care.
Instead, she’ll stand proud.

And state with conviction
With a voice that is clear,
And without contradiction,
Absolutely no fear….

“I am made with perfection.
I am ‘she’, that’s inside.
I don’t need your reflection.
I hold my own sense of pride.”