That's what they call them,
But I called her Charlie.
Lovely, lipstick and lace above,
Hard and him below.
She was a unicorn;
Something usual with an unexpected horn;
Pure and innocent like one too.
Far away and in another time, when I was someone else,
I loved her.
A woman's beauty and a man's usefulness.
I never was so satisfied as in her arms.
I could ride her forever and fall asleep on her soft breasts;
For me she was perfect.
I would have married her if the law was a far thing.
But it isn't.
Life is not a fair thing either.
She and the rest valued sameness above her unique attractions.
She could not see her true reflection and yearned to fix what was born broke,
To be a shadow of her greatness,
To be sorta like the rest.
But she never got a chance.
Not all share my passions and in the dark of our street,
She suffered the smallness of another's mind.
I still cry.

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