A Real Lady

A real lady, that’s what I would call her. She was called many other things, most of which were degrading. A real lady she was rarely called, I was really the only one to do it, but to her it was water off a duck’s back. Her long, smooth legs glide across the ground and her ivory face tilted towards the sky, never really caring about what others think of her. Her raven locks fly behind her back as she makes her way through life the way she wants. People will shout, throw things and try to get under her baby soft skin, but her prettily painted fingers will always just wave them away dismissively. She lost many friends and family members on her journey, but she will never lose me. I was not her protector, as she did not need one, but I was her supporter. When her crimson smile began to wilt I revived it with one simple phrase, “You are my real lady”. It never failed to make her bloom. Because of our relationship I was harrassed alongside her, but I would still not change it for the world. I find myself in awe about how hostile people can be to what they don’t understand, but also I admire her ability to deflect it so easily. It was inspiring. Secretly the people are jealous, jealous about how happy we are and how stunningly beautiful she is. How easily they can join in on our parade of love and joy if only they apologized for their nasty words. She is a kind and gentle soul, but never would she let herself be poisoned by toxic friends. It is crazy that people were so startlingly horrid to her, just because she was born a man. Nethertheless she will always be my real lady.