february 6, 2020

i named my tits thelma and louise. i’ve never told anyone. it’s a joke i keep forgetting to share. sometimes i wish they would drive off a cliff. other times, i don’t mind them. they’re perfect for drag, but not much else. i’m truly in between. if i had to choose, i’d say i feel more like a grown woman and a teen boy mixed, than a grown man and a teen girl. my hard side is the femme side. my soft side is the boy. i would be lying if i said i didn’t have weird mom stuff going on. i’m my own mom and my own irreverent teen. or my own needy young kid. it means everything and nothing. being a shapeshifter is powerful. i want my will to bend my body. i want my spirit to reflect itself in my material form. maybe that already happens, even if other people can’t see it. other people can’t see a lot of obvious things that are right in front of them. and most people don’t see ghosts. but they’re always there. forms that defy what they understand just don’t register to them. and that’s why the compulsory she. name + androgynous body + facial hair + lipstick = she ma’am miss because they search for what’s underneath their confusion, the things that tell them this is an other. it’s compulsive: to label, to reduce.