As we make this mess whole,
We look into the distance, intoxicated
By the silent, corrupt vessel.
A terror once prominent, now abated.
A sickness soon to grow,
But the infection has long sat, dormant.
Break the dam, beckon in the flow,
And watch as we sing our silent lament.
My parents seem to be under the impression that I’m a closeted transgender. I’m trying to figure out how to tell them that dudes are allowed to like cute stuff too ****.