At lunch,

we discuss a friend

who is pregnant with

her second child,

a baby girl.

We talk about

how excited

she must be

to have a daughter

since she already has

a baby boy.

Mom tells my sister and I

that she wanted one of each too.

I tease and say

she really just wanted me

but got stuck with

my sister first.

My mother says,

“I hate to tell you, (s*n),

but girls are more fun

(for a mother).”

I want to tell her that

I am a girl,

that I am more fun

than she will ever know

(but they won’t let me play).

I used to dream about

coming out as trans

to my family,

about their eventual acceptance,

about us growing closer

because I was brave enough

to share my truth.

As if we live in a

goddamn Hallmark movie.

I used to dream of my mother

taking me to shop

for dresses

like she did with my sister

my whole childhood.

I used to dream of being gifted

expensive purses and jewelry and makeup

and all the other things

i watched my sister and my niece receive

my entire life.

(And will now watch my great niece receive.)

My mother is right about one thing:

Girls ARE more fun.

I’m happiest when I am

in my feminine skin,

all dressed up with makeup on,

wearing a skirt or a dress

or at least a girly top,

looking and feeling beautiful.

(And not wearing black like my family does.)

Those who truly know me

say I glow

when I’m in my element.

They comment on my bright smile

and my joyful giggle

when I’m in girl mode.

My mother and sister know I am trans

but they don’t want to know.

I pretend to be male around them

for safety,

to keep the peace,

to not be disowned.

I have a joy and a light inside me

that they will never know.

They may not want to accept me

or embrace me

as daughter and sister.

In their way, they keep me out.

But also, they keep themselves out.

Because my life

and my happiness

are a wondrous party

and they have

disinvited themselves.