this is one of those pictures that keeps telling a story the more you look at it

THE 94th ACADEMY AWARDS BEST PICTURE NOMINATIONS (insp)     ㄴ THE POWER OF THE DOG

Babson Arabian Vlacq Amurrah and her filly Halypa Azeema

FUCK YEAH VAMPIRE COWBOY

A girl playing with her toys

My world stretched from the Arkansas River to the railroad track. I knew what not to say to Dad. I knew to go outside when Mama told me. I knew that homosexuals deserved to die. I knew that I longed for freedom before I knew what bondage was.

I had about 5 good minutes of hot water in the trailer. Being naked for too long wasn’t good for me, anyway. My thoughts would quickly unravel to a burning, all-encompassing disgust with myself. I was becoming a woman, and I wasn’t any good at it. I begged God to heal me. I begged God to kill me.

I couldn’t imagine my future. I couldn’t relate to other girls. I wanted muscles, narrow hips, square-toe boots, and I wanted to love and protect every woman I had ever met. I looked at cowboys and tradesmen, their huge hands and pride, and I knew that is who I wanted to be. At the age of 13, I knew I was meant to be a man.

I was surprised that it made sense to my conservative family. HRT, especially at such a young age, cured my gender defiance and homosexuality. I could finally imagine a future: a legal name change, a mastectomy, and hopefully, a woman gracious enough to love a strange man like me. Transitioning was supposed to fix me.

I spent my adolescence in a haze. My body was a battleground full of testosterone, budding addiction, and conflicting politics. Despite passing as male, I was not the man I wished to be. I realized that I did not wish to be a man. I simply wished to be free, as a woman.

After I stopped transitioning I tried to be a good woman. I dove head first into addiction, drowning out the fundamental opposition I had to femininity and heterosexuality. I thought every woman had to get high to put on makeup or stomach having sex with men. I thought tragedy was woven into the fabric of womanhood. I embraced it. I degraded myself for their validation. I felt emptier and lower than I ever had before.

It goes without saying that I am familiar with rock bottom. I have gone to hell and back, searching for external acceptance. It never occurred to me until recently that it is better to simply accept myself. All along, deep inside, my potential as a butch lesbian woman waited to be realized.

Nowadays, I have been delivered. I work hard with my hands for a living. I wear square-toe boots. I am a lover and protector of my fellow woman. Today, and for the rest of my life, I am free. I am not a man, nor do I wish to be. I am a human, a woman, without limitation.

Anna nicole scribbling hearts and her sons name on the notepad while doing business calls

White-tail Fawns

Artist by: FishyMarble

ALIEN (1979)

Battlestar Galactica (1978)

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