Allegedly this might be poetry...

There once was a girl who lived in a boy,
Though on balance she would've preferred Illinois,
Or anywhere else she could really enjoy,
But sadly it seemed she was stuck in that boy.

Her parents did to each other confide,
Their shared puzzlement at gender defied,
But they took it all within their stride,
And hoped if ignored that it would quietly subside.

At school all the boys and girls did shun,
This girl who was like no other one,
And whom all could see she had no fun,
This shy and scared little honeybun.

She sought out a favourite teacher to confess,
How she couldn't take anymore of this boy BS,
And that she wanted more than anything to be a princess,
But instead she was told these feelings to suppress.

In desperation she did freak-out,
And threw her masculinity into doubt,
She did sulk and cry and scream and shout,
But was firmly told that boys don't pout.

As a teenager she knew she had to hunker down,
And silently suffer the wrong pronoun,
So each night she snuggled up in a warm nightgown,
And counted off each passing sun-down.

At High School she knew that she must hide,
The fact that she was Miss Jekyll, not ugly Mister Hyde,
But her tormentors she found she couldn't brush aside,
And they fractured three ribs in her left side.

At nineteen her confidence was mislaid,
For her doctor wanted only to dissuade,
And so she left his office very afraid,
For all her dreams for the future were coming unbraid.

Her twenties passed by in a blur,
Until she met a nice woman who seemed to like her,
And then something unexpected did occur,
And in bed she ended up without a demur.

As you can imagine the experience did not go well,
Every instinct the girl had sought to rebel,
And it only drove her deeper into her shell,
As she lay, not alone, feeling rather unwell.

The relationship though only a short time did span,
Even though they both shared a love of Chopin,
'I feel like I'm living with a lesbi-an',
Said the woman to the girl hiding inside a man.

The girl in the boy was left with no one,
So she returned home to be mistaken for the prodigal son,
But I'm the prodigal daughter she said to everyone,
And my time hiding behind that boy is now done.

So she set about becoming an English Rose,
And to her time as a boy she said 'Adios'!
And sometimes she was so happy she burst out in prose,
And sometimes it was so scary she felt all morose.

Blessed with love and support the girl did blossom,
And with a cheerful smile she did disarm most problem,
For the worst she offered a few pithy words of wisdom,
For I fear the most bigoted learn only most seldom.

The girl it has to be said was a hopeless romantic,
She'd flirt coyly and try that movie Meg Ryan magick,
But to never let them get too close that was her tactic,
For fear that her beau might turn out to be transphobic.

Now the ending to this story I do not know,
Though ideally she'd end up living with some handsome beau,
Who would tell her she's perfect and leave her all aglow,
But until then she'll keep on chasing each rainbow.

Authors note: The last time I wrote poetry - beyond a couple of lines incorporated into birthday cards, etc. - was when I was 14 for an English assignment. It's been *ahem* two decades since then. So please be gentle. Particularly where I've inflicted significant pain on the English language to get the rhyme.

Oh, and I should probably say while there are bits of me in this verse, it's got an equal smattering of fictional events.