the tree boughs are bending to the shape of your bones and i call it home. your arms are my sanctuary, your voice my wonderland. i know you are in the wrong body, i know you are trapped with a name that is not your own, but to me, you are ‘angel’, you are 'prince’, and you are my world.

your hands are always gentle, always mixing the softest of flour, always making the prettiest of wreaths, always touching my face with love from miles away. i know that you feel you are not worth enough, not even for yourself, but you are enough for me, perhaps too much for the world, and oh, does the world love you.

your eyes are a mirror of who i wish to see in myself, a capture of perfection in the most imperfect way; you may not be who the people on the sidewalks want to see but you are the most attractive organization of constellations and sea coral to me.

i know you are afraid of most things, and some things you don’t remember; if you don’t remember anything else, please remember that you are beautiful to me, and that i will always try to remind you that if you are a burden to yourself, i would be honored to bear you.