Silhouette

My silhouette greets me on the wall of the bathroom stall,
The hourglass shape in the marble tiles
Threatens to expose the lie
I so precariously hold
In the men's bathroom.



I check my look in the vanity.
The gold colored men's golf shirt and slacks
Still hold the illusion of my shape,
But a quick look down
And I can see the rise on my chest,
Feel the tension against the jogging bra,
An itch waiting for me to rub.




The soft, slight stubble,
What the laser has so far left behind,
Unshaven since last night,
Helps conceal the soft skin of my face,
Draws attention from my long blonde hair,
That now femininely frames my face,
In soft gentle curves.




Remnants of eyeliner and mascara,
Shadows that shape my eyes,
And a slighty pinkish hue to my lips
From the lipstick that did not wash completely off
This morning
Gives my face a
"Pretty look."




Soon,
I can almost count the days,
Sir will be replaced with Ma'am,
My secret will be one no more,
And my silhouette will grace the wall
Of the bathroom next door.