I wish so badly to be longed by another girl, the way a love so tender would be held gently that the hands can’t help but quiver from how much they admire.

But every time my chest rise for each breath I take, I’m unequivocally reminded, that such love is one not meant for the likes of me.

Sapphic love is meant for a woman, loving another woman. And that I am not.

An amalgam that embodies all the sins that man has made, my very nature an antithesis to the same wishes that no god will hear.

I will never be a woman.

I will never find love.