it’s like I DO want to be feminine in the way a man is feminine. if I’m performing feminity I don’t want it to be read as an inherent reflection of my gender and who I am. I don’t want someone to call me ma’am or be called a girl. like. it’s drag. only it can’t be drag for me, because it’s not actually subverting anything, is it? so I’m in this spot where I either cannot allow myself any femininity or I do and accept the consequences of perception. my wearing eyeliner isn’t a subversion, a quiet rebellion, it’s perceived as fulfilling an expectation. somehow I can never be masc enough to be percieved as I want to be, so any introduction of femininity feels like a defeat. and yet sometimes I want to wear the pretty things that are still in my closet! or play around with makeup. but it isn’t a young boy getting into his mother’s vanity and heels, it’s growing up into the fulfillment of the wants of the mother and the rest of society as a blank whole.
imagine: you’ve finally reached the point where you can live along. Your small house isn’t the biggest, but its enough. You’re happy with your job and with your classes. You’re content every morning on your train ride and on your walk home. Everything seems to be falling into place in harmonious ways.
I call myself lonely but I cut off a lot of communication with people because I’m sick of feeling like I’m completely unimportant compared to everyone else.
I am a little high but what if people proposed with beautiful, intricate knives. Ladies would gather around the table and be like “guess what finally happened!!” And pull this beautiful, intricate dagger out of her purse and all the other ladies would gasp and congratulate her