well i mean. of course that’s not all it is. transition is glistening river and whispering stream. it’s sugar, spice, everything nice… when i was young i saw girls as myths. they were mystical, impossibly ethereal. floated on gossamer wings, scented like jasmine and vanilla, and adorned with glistening jewelry. in comparison i was like… like some kind of lowly ferret who had barely crawled out of the mud. my fur was caked in filth, or something. and the desire to become even the least bit like that was almost unthinkable to me: i could never fly. it was forbidden by biology, psychology, social norms. but when i learned it really was possible – that i could embody that same spirit, and i could really become as beautiful as the butterflies, shimmer like iridescent feathers – how could i not take that chance? how could i not stake everything on it?
anyway. i think i sullied something. dropped along the way. or picked something up by accident… or maybe saw it for what it really was? eventually it became this this baseline state of being Scared All The Time, having this low-level awareness of being surveilled, and even surveilling my own body, a panopticon of sorts. Plus even all the gossamer glitter image nonsense is gone. 3 paths: either it’s cakey foundation and forced smile (you pass with a lot of effort), bareface naked and hopelessly exposed (you shut your eyes and pray), or some weird isolationist boymoder hikikomori-adjacent puppygirl therian girlthing stuff (where you don’t go out at all). I like to think of myself as treading the Middle Ground of having low expectations and not being too tryhard about it, except for the whole voice-training-suffocation-throat-constriction part. but even the voice part is a liberation, a strengthening, an inoculant. sometimes i sound downright angelic, ma’am over the phone. in those moments i get flashes of a possibility, of something closer and closer, something Real…
…something Divine…
the internet, its weblike tendrils, ensares me… i have to remind myself that its hypnotizing gaze stares more at me the longer i stare at it. i’m not quite used to typing out my thoughts so expressively, usually pieces of sentences just float through my head. i don’t bother to catch them.
i dream the worst things. losing my job, getting outed, fighting with sylvia, losing her. grotesque things, like twisted flesh. being followed. my hair cut off and floating in the sink. my parents slamming doors. a male voice yelling, but whose? i fantasize about dreamless sleep these days. i’ve tried a few different things… making my body as tired as possible by running, climbing, swimming, or just smoking weed before bed. no dice. i still wake up at 5am, tears in my eyes. but at least last night was better. it was pretty funny, actually, it was a retelling of harry potter where at the end he has to disguise himself as a woman to beat the big bad, and he uses an enchanted bow and arrow to fire off a spell (madoka style) at the end. silly, right? so last night is a gift.
the side effect of exercising this much is that i’m hungry all the time, which sounds like a good problem to have, but now it’s a constant chore to take care of. hmm… maybe i don’t mind the trade-off, my body looks really good. i have abs now.
desire. what is it to me? something diseased, malignant, forced to be cut off? something that is sublimated? something given in to? i… uh, well… it’s like… hm… maybe something perverted… but what is perversion at all? what is being perverted? Uh…. i’ll figure this out later. I really need to figure this out but I need to do it later.
expanse of skin, gentle curve, falling cloud. someone yells in the distance when you touch me—we both pull back.…
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