I watch the girls on stage
in their sparkly dresses.
And I wonder if I will
ever be that beautiful,
ever wear something that pretty,
ever feel that seen.

It’s not about money.
It’s not about hating on
some thin genetic girls.
So much of life
lays beyond the closet door
that’s been locked and bolted,
barrricaded,
from both sides.

I’ve been lectured about why
I shouldn’t want to be a woman
or why I’m unworthy to be one.

I wish I had left my life behind
when I was still
young and dumb enough
to start over.

Now I wait for impossible conditions
including
courage that may never come.

And I watch the world through
my keyhole
and I long for the day when
I will be beautiful, sparkly, and seen.