Monday: long brown silky hair,         

Dark black eyes, drowning

Me inside of them, my reflection

Dimmed yet clear to see.

Who is, she.


Brushing her hair, oiling it daily. Eyes she used to place in transe.

Drowning us all, like a whirlpool

In an ocean so deep no one dared look.

Who is, she.


Tuesday: the hat was covering her hair,

Bandana was sworn tight round her neck,   

Much like a choker, a human choker

All the grace was gone, beauty vanished.

Who is, he.


Shielded they were, the harsh rays of sun Now you can put your hair any way you want to.

Could open any secret, unwilling to open.

Dogs collar, used to restrain, or hide.

Seems the same was done with her-he.

Who is.


For this behavior was not tolerated,

Sent behind bars she-he, they were.

Receiving nothing but a last wish return:

“Mother”, he, she cried

Where is she?


Mother doesn’t come,

No one comes,

Who would want to come for he-she?


“Thou shalt be beheaded”

They killed her-he

They killed them both.

Two lives taken in a second.


She was not a he.

He was not a she.

They were a trans, a trans indeed.

This poem is about: 
Our world
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