One little child couldn't understand why Her parents named Her Daniel

when She knew in Her heart that Daniela came more naturally.

Why adults whispered angrily to mommy and daddy when She wore

Her pink tutu and silk shoes for ballet class.

The boys in school laughed when She said that football made no sense

and the girls pretended not to see when She asked to join their games.

The teacher's oblivious to what happened in their playgrounds,

refusing to remove their tainted fingers from their deceitful eyes.

If only someone could see Her, understand Her, listen to Her,

tell Her that Her feelings were valid, that She wasn't crazy after all.

But even the cashier shot Her judgeful glances over the makeup counter,

wondering who She would be buying lipstick and false lashes for.

She thought She finally found Her place, where She could be safe,

with the women who shouted "Equality to all women!"

But they shoved Her out, left Her out in the dark,

a deafening silence to let Her know: She was not one of them.

It shouldn't matter what's in Her pants, or hides beneath Her bra,

the place where She truly knows who She is, is in Her heart.

She shouldn't have to prove Herself, or always be at Her best,

for people to just damn realize, that this Woman, is a Woman nonetheless.