Short hair. Flat chest. Coloured jeans. One pierced ear. Rolled up sleeves. Long legs. Snarling lips.
Do not tell me what I am 
'Supposed to be'
Do not restrict me
Or pin down my wings
Or chop off bits of me so I fit into your box
Just because you cannot comprehend me in my glory 
Strong arms. Flat stomach. Buzz cut. Baggy pants. Shiny shoes. Big hands. Tall stature. 
Do not tell him what he is
'Supposed to do' 
Let him be
He wants to paint
Not play football
Do not restrict him 
Because you cannot handle him in his glory
We are glorious
Every last one of us
And if you try to restrict us
We will stop sharing our glory with you


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