glumshoe:

glumshoe:

I remember when wearing men’s clothing felt daring and deviant – like something i had to apologize or ask permission for. I had to find excuses to chop my hair off or to wear a tie. I was worried what people would think whenever I left the house. I remember my mother begging me, only tree years ago, to change into something else, anything else, rather than wear a suit to a wedding (”I’m not ready for people to know about you,” she said, when I stared her down and adjusted my tie).

Now? It’s as normal as breathing. 

I used to walk into men’s clothing departments holding my breath. I’d walk quickly, head low, heart racing while I mentally prepared excuses in case anyone asked. I’m shopping for my brother. My cousin. My friend. I’d try to look vacant and disinterested, lest they see me wanting and know what I was, as if it wasn’t obvious. 

It’s for a play, I’d lie to the barber. I’m playing a soldier. 

Now? Sure, men stammer and women avoid eye contact. The difference is that I don’t. If there’s anything “wrong” with me, it’s not this. I am that I am that I am and I do not need a name for it.