I am Cheyenne.
I come from a place of support but lack of understanding. 
I am not who I was born to be.
I found out when I was thirteen.
Climbing trees, instead of drinking hot tea,
Wearing hats backward instead of strutting in high-heels.
Learning to skateboard instead of playing dress-up.
"Hey, pretty girl!" 

No.
No.
No.

I am Troye.
I am a boy.
Some don't understand, but I have support,
My life is strange, and I cry when I get tired.
He, him, both describe me,
When I don't look masculine, I let out a yell of frustration,
Mirrors are my enemies, friends are my family.

I make my mark, by being myself.