Make me a girl

She doesn’t even need to try.

She wakes up, flawless.

Sunlight kisses her soft, golden skin,

her perfect curves wrapped in nothing

but a tiny bikini and loose little shorts.

She doesn’t check the mirror twice.

She already knows she looks good.

She simply exists,

and the world rewards her for it.

Men stop when she walks by.

Their heads turn, their mouths go dry.

She giggles, adjusts her top,

pretending not to notice—

but she knows.

She always knows.

And you?

You don’t just want her.

You want to be her.

To wake up in that body.

To pull on those tiny clothes,

feeling the fabric slide against smooth, feminine skin.

To step outside and feel eyes on you,

to hear the whispers, the hunger, the need.

You dream about it.

You imagine how it would feel

to be delicate, beautiful, adored.

You scroll transition forums for hours,

researching mods, hormones, surgeries,

desperate to fix the mistake of being born as you.

But no matter how much you want it,

no matter what you take,

no matter how far you go,

you will never be her.

She doesn’t beg for attention.

She doesn’t chase validation.

She simply is,

and men obey.

And you?

You will spend years chasing a dream

that will never come true.

Rewatching the same clips,

staring at the same photos,

obsessing over every little detail,

knowing deep down

you will never wake up as her.

No mod, no surgery, no pill

will ever make you what she is.

She was born to be worshipped.

And you?