I have lived as a trans woman, as of the first of this month, for a full year. And I have been exhausted ever since then. I’ve been exhausted because I’ve been deadnamed, I’ve been misgendered, I’ve been stereotyped, I’ve been judged, I’ve been insulted. I’ve been the subject of aggression, micro and macro. But I’ve been exhausted because additionally, I know it’s not just me. Everyone like me, man and woman, between and nothing, and non-conforming, has been dissected.…
This is the last time I write these kinds of words. This is the last time I give you all the yada yada about questioning my gender identity, and the whole spiel about how I envy women and think I want to be one, and the entire gist about how I don’t and haven’t felt right in this body for a long time. This is the last time I put you through any of that. I ask nothing more of…
There are two kinds of people in the world:
People who watch Blue Jay and feel depressed because love is ultimately a futile pursuit that only leads to pain and regret.
And people who watch Blue Jay and feel happy because despite any sort of pain or forever unhealthy dent that love left, it’s a beautiful thing that it happened in the first place.
Petal summer with dew sunrises. An artwork to end off the life of creation that was a hubris since the womb, the penultimate song until the one that says goodbye to the canvas beyond canvases. The beauty of painting the ocean was never the joy of shading your own world but seeing that in the end, the waters were deeper in reality than they ever were on paper.