Short hair. Flat chest. Coloured jeans. One pierced ear. Rolled up sleeves. Long legs. Snarling lips.

Do not tell me what I am 

'Supposed to be'

Do not restrict me

Or pin down my wings

Or chop off bits of me so I fit into your box

Just because you cannot comprehend me in my glory 

Strong arms. Flat stomach. Buzz cut. Baggy pants. Shiny shoes. Big hands. Tall stature. 

Do not tell him what he is

'Supposed to do' 

Let him be

He wants to paint

Not play football

Do not restrict him 

Because you cannot handle him in his glory

 

We are glorious

Every last one of us

And if you try to restrict us

We will stop sharing our glory with you