She reattaches her fake dragon tail
And slides her dress past her tan thighs
To cover the parts that resembles
His own.
He checks nonexistent emails
As she adjusts her blond wig,
Knowing that the lump in his throat
Is his own heart and words
Struggling to escape.
He wants to tell her she should stay
By pressing his lips against hers
And letting his manhood press against
Her own again.
But he knows she has to leave.
She has tickets to Fakku!
So he turns to words.
She’s not comfortable in her own skin
And she’s trying to change
But to him she is beautiful.
He wants to wait for her
As she travels around for work
And as she starts on her personal journey.
He wants to let her know he missed her
By kissing her neck, massaging her back,
And holding her tight.
He wants to tell her he isn’t fetishizing her,
That he also once wore lacy shorts,
Flowing blouses and bunny thigh highs.
He know how it feels to want to be cute
Even though you feel trapped in your own body,
How brave she is for choosing to be happy.
But he knows she will never stay.
He’s only a broke office temp.
So he swallows the words down
Like how he threw away his wigs and dresses.
He walks her to the Uber he called for her
And turns away as the car drives off.
He knows he’ll always be looking for her,
That every lover in his bed
Will be molded to her image in his heart.
The Lily Garden 
I’m sensing some personal experience in this little poem, but no matter how involved you were, don’t let heartache stop you from pursuing happiness in the future!
Also, it’s very weird but oddly appropriate to start seeing the word Uber in modern poetry.
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For some reason, I find it easier to write fictional characters when I write up fanfiction.
But for poems? I’m almost always guaranteed to be one of the characters involved, as seen here. Personal experience is what I’m interested in conveying here.
Thank you. But it’s alright, I’ve already accepted that my role in life.
Right? “Uber” looks peculiar yet it sort of fits.
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