WHO AM I?

Closet queen, Cross-dresser, Female impersonator, Fruitcake, Drag Queen, Transvestite.
Well, All those names are for me. I didn't decide that.
All I know is that I wasn't asked what sex I wanted to be, when I was born. They just decided that I was to be a 'man'. So I just went about it, trying to be a 'man'. What did it mean to be a 'man'. Well, growing up with boys, fighting with them, climbing walls, getting violent, playing 'war games'. And then as a young adolecent, trying to macho and masculine. But, hey! wait a minute, I don't want to do that. The 'boy's' bore me to death with their bravado and their horsing around. Their stupid show of strenght and power.
BOY'S DON'T CRY! Fuck it!
I want to cry! I want to express my feelings, 'silly feelings', so called 'girlish feelings'. I want to play house with a doll. I want to be like mummy when I grow up, not daddy who just watches TV and grunts. I want to wear a saree, a pretty lavender saree. Tie my hair in braids and put 'Kohl' in my eyes. I want to cook great meals. I want to sew and embroider a table cloth.
FAGGOT! QUEEN! EUNNUCH! HOMO!
Yes I am one. I wear sarees, I wear make-up and I sew and I cook and I CRYYYYYYYYYY!!!
I don't have breasts or an hour-glass figure. I don't have a Vagina or a clitoris. But I am a woman!
And I'm happy this way.