I haven’t posted in a bit, so I thought I’d let you know what’s up with me.
After a shitload of pondering and frustrating myself, and google searches, I’m worn out.
Maybe I’m Trans. But, maybe I’m Genderfluid, or… just a transvestite…or…
Too much for my brain!
I’ve decided this: I don’t need a label. That’s just something to tell a stranger if they ask.
I AM JUST MYSELF.
Some days, I feel like wearing a skirt, I feel like wearing jeans. A baseball hat. (But, the one constant is panties. Everyday. And some makeup. Gloss and a bit of color for my lips. I mean, I’m not a Neanderthal)
I guess what I’m saying is wear whatever the fuck you want. Fuck labels.
Maybe somewhere there’s a label that fits how I feel. Wait…! I know that label! I know what it is! It’s…
Today, for example, I’m wearing my Adidas by Alexander Wang green satin track pants. (God, I love these!),
Stan Smith shoes, and a white untucked oxford shirt. Now…as I said I always do, I have panties on. (They’re the prettiest navy blue, and 100% NYLON!) A matching bra, and pantyhose. But, I guess if you were to look at me, maybe you’d see a guy. Maybe you’d talk to me and think Boy, this guy is kinda girly. That’s fine. I am girly. If you know anything about me, you’d know how much I was bullied for being a fem boy, starting when I transferred schools in 5th grade. Ugh. Boys. Am I right?
Though now, I don’t wear what I feel I have to. I wear what I want to.
What the hell am I? I don’t fucking care.
Now, am I right?
I found a couple old old vintage pics taken by my then-girl friend of me wearing parachute pants. They’re Polaroids from ’85. Cropped a little. But, I vividly remember trying on a new gray pair. Can I believe I once could fit into a size 31L? Well sure I can. Jeez, I have kept the original tag in a photo album all these years. The second small pic is another Polaroid she took of me in my ubiquitous black pair. Great crotch shot, huh? Eeeew. I guess she knew what it was she liked about my parachute pants.