Selfie! I dyed my hair red. I swore I'd never dye my hair again. I lasted 4 months.

At Least I Can Pass

Shadows fall differently over the contours of my body, suggesting at hips and curves, whispering collarbones that have never truly been seen before, screaming legs that have the muscle of a man, and whispering promises of a terrifying dip in my gravitational pull. The consequences of my recent hectic life talks to me in uncomfortable leanness--I feel every rib and hip bone in my body as I stretch out in bed. I eat food that promises to stick to my ribs, but my ribs refuse to hold on to it, shedding it like a cat sheds its fur in spring. I am terrified at what my body has turned in to, this scrawny sinewy vessel that I'm not sure I like. This isn't intentional; this isn't an eating disorder; this is a result of poverty and biking home well past midnight from work--the result being that everyone thinks I'm on drugs. But the good thing is, at least I can pass as a man without hormones. That's a plus, right?