"Everything!" I snap angrily.
"When you live on the street, you can't wash the dirt out of your fur when it starts to itch!
You can't comb the knots out when they start tugging at you painfully whenever they catch on something!
You're dirty and filthy and hungry and spend every single day watching all the ponies with home walk by, wishing your fur was as smooth as theirs, that your belly was as full, that your
body was that clean and free from the itching of dirt and bugs and lice!
And yet here you are, trying to tell me I'm not allowed
to be like those ponies, with their clean soft fur and brushed manes, not because I don't have money, but because I'm male?!
Realize I'm screaming at the top of my lungs and stop, breathing heavily before I look away.
"You just don't understand."