Rosepathfading

      Amara slid her flip-flops on and walked out to the deck. Walking her dog as usual on the beach was Char, the most beautiful girl in Amara's life.

Amanda looked over the railing on the bridge, and saw herself staring back. But no... this wasn't her, it was another girl... under the water... holding a pumpkin bucket, the kind kids have for halloween trick or treating. But no...

My scar,
Is gone.

It was on a past life.
The one of a boy.

It was on a past failure.
The one of not me.

It was pronouns.
The ones of a 'boy.'

But the pain still stings.

There is a dark place.
Inside me.
It is of boys and "dude."
Masculinity and strength.

I am none of those.
But the dark reminds me I used to.
It hurts.
It wails.

I wish my bed could fly.
Above the ground. 

My sweater is gentle,
like the departure of dandelion seeds.

My sweater is worn,
like a strongly emotional diary.

My sweater is thanked,
like important needs.

My sweater is special,
like the opening of a gift.

Mind the gender and diversity, aliens.