my arms and legs have grown to big for me to stay in this bed so i fold myself up, hold myself close, i'm the one i trust the most. you look at me and you see a guy. i wouldn't be ashamed if i was allowed to cry. you impose your ideals with no regard for me. fuck your violent masculinity. your hands have only destroyed so mine will only create. he tries on a yellow dress in his parent's white basement. why is this not considered strength? if you feel shame it should be for your hate.