Im feeling homesick but like for transgender community. Tiny liberal arts catholic college my beloved but it's just me and one other guy and I miss not having to put up with cis people
I wrote some shitty prose about it if anyone wants to see it
Good news guys I was on Tumblr for 5 seconds and came across the phrase "I was researching human rights for kink purposes" and I feel better
You fools.
I come from a beautiful world where people assume the only person who knows your truth is you.
You meet a new friend, and tell them your name. They smile and say it, full trust in your answer that it is the truth, even if that truth has changed or will change again.
"Is that a nickname?" My classmate asks. "Whats your real name?" My well meaning coworker wants to know. "That's nice, but what name were you born with?" The old lady at the bus stop says.
That doesn't happen where I come from. Names are sacred, and we are weaving the fabric of our own identity.
Where is come from, we know we fall outside of the normal sense of beauty. No matter what we wear, we will never be anything but a freak, so the only people we have to please with our garb is ourselves.
You are unlimited in the garnish of your temple. No fabric is out of your reach, no dress will make me trust you any less. We will trade masks and dance in countless scenes, but I know your face. You know my face.
Where im from, the men are short and the women are tall. The man in the burly beard knitted that sweater himself, and that woman in the knee length skirt is a machinist.
If we are made in the image of God, then what am I but a cheap imitation of something i will never be? I want to have my own face, take chisel to stone and create myself.
I feel homesick. Everyday I go and face a world that I know I have no place in. Where people smile politely and nod along, but I know they see a mirage in my place. Something blurry in the place of my body that they are trying to distinguish. Im heat waves on a desert road, knowing the horizon is there but losing the ability to see it clearly. Im 2 frames faster than I talk. Im the unit you skipped, only accounting for one question on the test. No one sees me, so they throw paint on me, but the colors are wrongs and my hair is wet. God I wish to be seen.
I miss my home. Where no one strains to call me right, where people see me and instantly understand. I can speak my mother tongue. I can release myself from restrictive slings and dance uninhibited.
I want to be seen i want to be seen i want to be seen.
I miss my home.
