dear mustache,
i used to hate you
because of how dark and prominent
you were against the almost pallor
of my skin
people would
make fun of me for you
in middle school especially
but kids are mean
and i stood out in more
ways than my mustache
that would have been more fitting
on a prepubescent teenage boy
than an angry lesbian
i was
shamed into waxing you away
which hurt so much the first time
that i almost cried
but what hurt more than the hot wax
was my father
whose genes gifted me with
darker and coarser hair
always encouraging me to
bleach you away into an acceptable
shade of invisible
and then
when a switch was thrown
inside my body that had
been crying out from the still
tender age of seven that my being
called a girl was
wrong wrong wrong
you were
there still having always
come back after the wax and bleach
but that
fine line of hairs above
my upper lip
you made me feel more masculine
you made me hate myself less
you make me feel more masculine
you make me hate myself less