Somedays I look down at this body,

I do not believe that it is mine,

My eyes are mine,

but every thing else seems as though I was so far away from it,

like a drunk man pulls on strings

to somehow get this body to move,

I feel this body ache,

Is this really mine?

when did I get this way?

and when I cry, 

I like to peer into the mirrior,

those tears they are mine,

but the hand that wipes them away belongs to some one else,

her nails are painted,

this body,

I'm not to sure of somedays,

my legs seem to curved and my arms,

they string out like homemade noodles,

shouldn't I have a square jaw line?

Otherdays I this body fits my eyes like a glove,

my legs are womanly and beautiful

my arms are able and pale,

my eye lashes are long and thick,

there is no man pullling strings,

there is no man any where,

how dare you suggest I am a man,


Guide that inspired this poem: 


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