This is something I wrote years ago. It i one of those pieces I read and I honestly don't know how it came out of me. I love it.
She who does not like to be a her
Who would have preferred different parts
To those she was given and all their trouble
To her a lady from hell
Who once was killed and now will kill
Dreamer of the thousand things we love
I would give a gift if I had any
To her first for her unhappiness
She is the second kind of love
An appreciation for unexpected things
I admire with these green eyes of mine
All her heartfelt yearnings for a different body
For, I feel the same in this body
Sometimes I wonder if we were souls
Misassigned to these frail frames
Neither of us really want
And now that we’ve arrived
How, God, could we change
These comfortable things
And comfortable pains
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