Young Writers Society

I have always hated my freckles.

Those brown marks

littering my face and arms

into constellations I could not comprehend.

They disappear like the person I am,

when I spread that matte mouse

across my skin making my face blemish-less

and rid of all traces of those horrendous brown marks.

.

I love the way I can cover my skin.

I love the colour I can makes my lips,

how I can take those pale dull mounds

and make them into something beautiful.

I love the way I can mix colours

and have eyes that smoke like

a freshly put out bonfire.

How I can drag my eyelashes

to inconceivable heights.

I hate the way that I love it,

because I can never wear it outside.

.

I hate my name.

The name given to me in

attempt to make me masculine,.

The name which screams football,

one which implies I am comfortable

being male, one which I hate because

believe it or not conformist views

are not a simple as tick box on a form.

Tomas is the name given to me.

Lilly is the name I chose.

.

One day I will leave my house in heels.

I shall walk the streets in a dress

in my favorite shade of blue.

I will be proud and strong

and not a ounce of fear in my body.

I will be called Lilly,

and not a freckle will be on my face.