For a while longer I am sore from last night, When I had to work with a foreign national.
Keeping them happy is what I do,
With my services.
With all the pube I own, an enlarged clitoris and the rest of women.
I stretched my arms that fail the standards of masculinity and thus called unmanly.
I paint my face and its scars
With concealer,
With powder, and a plain lip colour.
I brush my series waves and put black celluloid clips.
Glossy ones are for night.
I dress like a plain creature, a less feminine female and travel in a public bus.
I have a small conscious gait for I see question in the audience,
What kind of breast do I have?
What shape are my genitals?
Do I shave around them?
The bus reaches my destination, a school.
Around the corridor, I meet students of primary school, carefree, running and halting for a
"good morning ma'am".
Also wondering if it's "sir" or "ma'am".
I work day and night
Switching roles to fill their stomach
My children,
My girls,
To save their flesh from werewolves
It's a dangerous world outside.
My beautiful girls,
Lovely and adorable.
"Mom or Dad, who am I?'
My neighbours giggle,
I say "family".

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