Mascara in my eye,
Running down my face,

It stings and I don't care.

Regret?

I know not.

Rain falling,
On my died black hair.

It's clinging to my face.

They're staring,

Just because they will never know,
The way I feel,

The way I think.

My painted nails digging deeper.

My toes are curling in these heels.

I could change,

I could be true,
To myself,

To them all.

But I feel home

In this jet black skirt and skimpy blouse.

They say that I'm a girl.

aren't I?

No.

These days it's hard to tell.