transrights
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She pauses, outside the crossroads that read "Men" and "women"
Most would call this a bathroom
She calls this Russian Roulette
Tunnel vision, heartbeat skipping
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
