transrights

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you ask me, over and over you ask me. but why, really why, does it matter? even if I cover my ears and yell, and shout and scream,you raise your hands and tell me i'm being dramatic. I act out and ignore what you try to pry from my hands,something
I am trapped in this place. It is dark, dark as night. I try to escape,  try to leave, With a flag of pink, blue, and white,
The scratchy stubble and broken dress straps she's sent plummeting, my Cinderella The sorrow and shame spliter her like cracks Crimson stains the backs of the angel's hands
Would you have stayed if I never opened that door. Would you still love me if you saw her once more.   Would my words of apology mean anything from her. Would my tears of heartbreak
Gray business doesn't seem to matter,
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