He slides behind the door,
The closet door where no one can see.
He cries behind the veil,
The dress that she does not know is there.
He pushes aside the lipstick and the heels,
He flings the camera into the dark.
For his dreams have died,
And his love no longer alive.
He will never be beautiful,
A sculpted face and perfect height.
He will never be accepted,
Because the space between his legs are occupied.
The lipstick is a curse he has brought down upon himself,
At last his back bends with burden.
Forever he shall be petrified in stone,
The body he never really wanted.