Identity Crisis ; A collection of poetry

Lavender Paint

Splatter paint flicked off a bristled brush smacks against the side of my face like a bullet speeding from the barrel of a gun.
Before I can react, there is a chilling sensation creeping in my bones that makes me break out in a cold sweat.
The sparkling pastel lavender-pink mixture  seeps into my moonlight stricken face, an expression of horror portrayed.
Thoughts sped from my neurons creation into the veins that ran into my brain, i was rooted into place, unable to move.

I was attempting to break free of the petrified state that was holding me hostage.
Nothing felt as it should be, the pastel colors now living in my skin marked me as what the universe decided I was.
Feminine features of my face did not exist, lumps of fat cells living on my chest was the only obvious indication.
Rebelling against this marking I wear, I shaved the sides of my head to achieve a masculine haircut.

Sliding the buttons into place I dressed myself in shirts made for men, only hindered by the feminine jeans I wear.
The universe was wrong about me and for that I wanted to shout into the moonlit night and make it pay.
Only the lavender was close to what I actually am within my being, the mixture of pink and blue.
Time ticks by and unfortunately I still reside within the feminine body with the feminine traits I'm unable to escape.

They swaddled me in a pink blanket with immense joy, so painfully excited to finally have a female child.
The blanket and the light rose colored mark burned my flesh like a red-hot iron causing deep wounds that will never heal.
While the wounds are invisible to the outer-eye, every instance I glance at my body utmost loathing radiates from me.
Instead of the wounds causing indents on my chest, the flesh protruded in what could be seen as an attractive feature.

Repeatedly I am fatally sliced with the utterances of those peers who still refer to me as 'her' or 'she.'
The worse slash comes from those who gave me life, to hear them refer to me as 'daughter' is a wound that will never heal.
weather I am a brilliant shade of royal blue or a lavender with only the slightest hint of pink I do not know.
all I am positive of is that I am not that pastel pink I was wrapped in a birth, all I am positive of is that I am me.