SAISIR

That is my face. Those are my boots. I love my queer-ass self. 

Feeling obligated to smooth my rough edges and compact myself into a gender binary-friendly female-presenting person makes me feel like that guy in the middle pic. “Oh, no, I’m so sorry, there’s been a mistake...Ohh, no, I’m sorry, there’s been a mixup...I don’t mean to be rude, but maybe you thought I was someone else?”

I’ve been flailing against this obstacle for a while now, and throwing myself against it in anger when I’m not compromising myself for it. 

New tactic: 

"I know a few women [lists women we know] who handle their period like a boss. Like a person. You, one day maybe you'll make the list." Real-life proclamation made by a guy friend/housemate, completely out of nowhere.

Ohh, I don't handle my period in the way you want me to? Tell ya what. Sometime, when you least expect it, cause my period is unpredictable as hell, I'll sneak up on you. I'll gnaw my way through your stomach wall, grab your entrails in my fist, and I'll disembowel you slowly. Over the course of 3-14 days but you'll never be sure when it'll stop cause that's how my periods go. And, y'know, if you handle it as well as I handle my period then for as long as we know each other I'll pretend I am blood-free. Sound fair?

Yeah, that's what I thought. Go choke on an an infected dick.

And I will handle my self 

any

way

I

damn

well

want