"You were a pretty girl, where are your braids?"
I walk faster
Trying to outrun my sense of dread.
I've forgotten about the judging Russian people
Who with their prodding pointy comments
Slowly drive me off the edge.

"I like it more this way."
A confused pause drains my words to silence.
"It's easier for…
Swimming."

"But they were so long and pretty…"
Grow out your own hair grandma,
I think and nod respectfully
Pretending I've been called urgently away.

"So are you a rebel now?"
Well if that's what you want to call it.
But don't worry, this is all you'll see-the tip of the iceberg
At least I'm silently going insane.

"My mom says it's just a phase."
Thank you friend
For the over-used cliché,
I'll put in in the same place you put you tendency towards gay:
That shelf we call "Let's never speak of this again."

But to be fair,
My parents say I'm not allowed
To tell you I'm a boy.