Lara Cross

Five-Hour Girl

I think I’m just a five-hour girl, living out my feminine dream,
Not caring for three-hundred minutes what others care or think.
Never concerned by the reality that none are truly who they seem,
While I slip into my dress and wig and apply my makeup at the sink.

I think I’m just a five-hour girl, while my family’s all away,
Boldly dancing through my girliness in my fancy little shoes.
Not the man who lives among those who might see him every day,
But a sexy, slender, sultry slut …or any other girl, I choose.

Now, I freshen up my lipstick, now I darken up my eyes.
Next, I brush my golden hair back into a bun
Then, I slide my nylons up my thighs.
As I do, I feel the girl inside reaching up into the skies.

But I’m just a five-hour girl, born to be an older man,
Born to bear those burdens, disappointments, and frustrations,
Supporting all my family others in whatever ways I can…
Without any joy, without any notice, and without any adulations.

Still, I yearn to be that five-hour girl, so simple and so plain.
So full of life, so happy, with her rosy little cheeks,
But girlish dreams like these of mine can never long remain.
Probably not for hours, perhaps not for days, and certainly not for weeks.
-lm