Realitea

Morning and the warmth of the sun seeped through my curtains. Birds trilled in the distant trees and cars groaned along the road parallel to my house. The home hummed with early morning activities: the pouring of cereal, brewing of tea and powering on the television, a regular summer's day within the household. The back door was agape and air trickled through, humid and thick. Each window was flung open to accommodate for the lack of air, robbed by the heat. A tiresome girl of sixteen was curled under thick blankets, tossing and turning as her body recognised the sticky morning weather. Dreaming limbs pushed the duvet away, allowing the air t

Stand me by a mirror And tell me I’m wrong That there is not a woman But a man all along Staring back With a glum look on his face Feeling slightly confident But torn and unplaced Spit in my face And tell me I’m wrong That I am a woman Not a man all along Because I will not listen It will never be true I am male In all that I do And one day I’ll tell you And you’ll understand That I’ve never felt right And you'll keep hold of my hand You'll say its ok Not 'my daughter', 'my son' That you understand Each feeling I've become But I know it's not real You will never accept I’ll be left to crumble With no