a wish list for quiet girls

Tell me what you want:

Because we drink alcohol on rooftops
and thank God that we exist,
clinking bottles—
would you like to fly?

Tell me what you want:

Because you cry yourself to sleep,
and we take the same medicine.
Your loneliness shines
through the cracks in your smile.

Tell me what you want:

Because time slows down
with your head on my shoulder.
I don’t believe in forever,
so let’s stay asleep.

Tell me what you want:

Because I won’t ask you to smile,
but if I can help you through the day
then tell me what you want.

Heyo, I’m electricitywoman, a dirty dirty Bulgarian galore.

I identify as androgyne/non-binary femme and “she” or “they” work just great. After a lot of nasty-ass struggles, I’ve come to relative peace with my body and have figured out that if it weren’t for gender norms, I would not suffer from dysphoria as badly. I’m hence hanging on to the “woman” in my URL in hopes of less stupid days where my genetalia does not define the boundaries of my capacities, character, or identity. That and English hella needs to get some better genderless person nouns.

When I’m not freaking out about how damn awesome science is, I’m into photography, painting, music, hiking, Muay Thai, reading, and cooking.

Y’all look funkin’ awesome; have a damn good day c:

My Self-Made Man: Falling in Love with My Transgender Husband

"I first met Liam in a coffee shop in my Bronx neighborhood three years ago. When he started a casual conversation in line, I was struck by his country-boy charm and cute gap-toothed grin. "What’s your name?" I asked. His slow, swaying voice sped up: "Liam, but that’s a recent thing because I’m transitioning—I’m transgender. I was born a girl, but I’ve always known I was a guy. Is that OK?" From looking at him, I never would have known about his recent past. "Of course," I said, posturing behind my liberalism and years of gender studies classes. But I wasn’t actually so confident. While I’d met other transgender people, Liam was the first to come out to me directly. I felt like I was handed a live grenade—weren’t confessions like that supposed to be explosive?"

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