You look great, hon

"I am not your son"

Then what are you, hon?

You were gone for so long

It has been two years,

since I last visited you, in that land among

the people filled with fears.

I hid my tears, when I saw you.

E and "she" were coursing through

your veins and brains. Worst than my greatest fears.

Your face, grotesque.

Your voice, straining to sound human.

It does not.

My beloved son, with a face only a mother could love.

A face that despite its newfound horror, I cannot help but love.

You asked me how you looked.

You look great, hon.

Some would say that is a lie.

It is not, I cannot help but love my son.

Someone needs to tell you, but I cannot!

Because to me, hon, you look great, hon.

You were told that the hormones would feminize you.

They do not, hon.

But still, hon, they hurt you.

You cried to me one night, hugging your stuffed shark,

and all I could say, was

You look great, hon.

I love you, hon.

You will always be my hon.

I cannot call you your death-name,

you will not let me call you your murdered-name.

So I can only call you hon.

You are my hon, who I love more than anyone

can know.

And though the hormones have already ruined you,

you look great, hon.

You look great, hon.

Come home soon, hon.

I miss you, hon.

I will always welcome you back, hon.

You look great, hon.