Creeping low on my neck,
Entangling in my lips
Adding its texture to my food,
Heavy vines of hair:
A nondiscript color,
Past my shoulders for the first time in years
And grating on my desire to be feminine.

I give up on feminine, I have boobs for that.

The new plan is simple:
Wait for spring,
shave it off,
And wait for someone to call me sir.

03/10/2006

Posted on 03/11/2006
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