People call me a “transtrender.” It’s people who pretend to be trans to be popular. It’s because of what I look like and how I’m not taking hormones for my transition, but there are plenty of transgender people who don’t want to go through that process. I like how I look, I really do. It’s up to other people to change their perception of me rather than for me to change myself to fit what their perception is. I wear dresses sometimes, but that doesn’t make me less of a man. I definitely have a feminine side. I enjoy having my makeup done and can still look pretty and be a man.

Read the full story at http://mashable.com/2015/08/31/transgender-teenagers/

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“Still a Woman”

When you meet me, you might call me a woman.

You’ll see my makeup, you’ll see my hair.

You’ll see the clothing I wear, the fit and style. All of these things that announce my womanhood so clearly in your mind.

You’ll see how my face and body are shaven, to keep in line with the expectations society has for me.

Perhaps you’ll see me wearing a wig, so I may hide the line of my hair, shaped not quite the same as the other girls, perhaps a style with bangs or a fringe in addition to hide the ridge on my brow, which is subtle to your eyes, but not your mind.

Like many other things you’ll see,
my cheeks which certainly could be rounder
My eyes which seem just a smidgen to small
My chin wich seems just a touch too broad
The lump projecting from my throat
The hands with just a touch too much relief

You’ll see the stubble on my chest, hear the depth of my voice.

And You’ll know that I was born differently.

It’s still quite an assumption for you to make, there are other girls who were born different from me, but nonetheless carry similar features.

You’d be right, though. I was born different from them.

But a man is something I have never been. You might say that I am, you might say I once was.

You might say a woman is something I will be, something which I wish to be, or something I will never be.

Even if you call me a woman now, perhaps tomorrow, you’ll think differently.

You’ll see me wake up, as the light shines in to show dark smudges where the makeup was.

You’ll see that hair has come back to visit my face. I didn’t invite it, but it’s here again.

You’ll see my real hair, the wig is gone now, tossed in a messy pile on the floor.

You’ll see my flat chest in a baggy shirt.

You’ll see me wearing loose shorts so that things I wish did not exist can breathe after a day spent forcefully hidden inside my body, and smashed into me.

I’ll step into the shower, wearing nothing. My skin is all I can see. I want to cry, because I know what you would call me if you saw me.

Where was the line?

When did I stop?

Last night I came home at the end of the day.

My head itched so very horribly that It took my wig away from me.

Still a woman I remained.

My eyes were sore, and crusted and itchy. They’d been begging all day to be relieved, while the skin of my faced longed to breathe again.

They took my makeup away from me.

Still a woman I remained.

My chest itched from the band secured around it. It was uncomfortable, hot and sticky, from the lumps of gel that sat there all day.

It took these things away from me.

Still a woman I remain.

My body’s discomforts could be listed on. All of these things I did to it today, not for my body, not for the world, and most assuredly not for you. All of these things I did for me.

Now every one of them is gone.

And Still a woman I remain.

It’s something you can never take from me. It was never a title for you to bestow.

It’s not something which I wish to be, not something I someday will be.

I am a woman here and now. I was a woman yesterday.

I was a woman when I woke up wishing life was different, and when I lay my head back against the same pillow and wish the world would just fade away,

Still a woman I will remain.

I was a woman the day I was born, I will be a woman on the day I die.

I still hope one day that I can change this body nature gave to me, the thing that’s so differen’t from the other girls, the thing you use to call me a man.

But this body does not belong to a man.

My body is not who I am. It’s something I have to live inside. Just like you, or anyone else. I am more than just my shell, as you are more than just your own.

If you could be removed, would it change who you are? I for one don’t believe it would. You may say it’s silly to ask such a thing, when there is no way for you to take it off.

But I know the answer all the same. For while you would never wish for an instant to trade your shell for one like mine, I’d give anything I could ever have just to have a shell like yours. A place where I can feel at home, comfortable and secure.

A place where the world wouldn’t need to learn so many things just to see. That being a woman is something within.

You can never take it away from me.

So take it all. Go ahead.

Take my wig, take my hair.

Take my makeup.

Take the very clothes from my back.

Take my body.

Take my life if you feel you must.

It’s the last thing you can take from me.

I will drift on in a sea of peace where you can’t touch me anymore, and your words of hate and ignorance have long since echoed into silence. I will find comfort, peace, and love, free of the shell you used to define me.

You’ll call me a thing I never was

And Still A woman, I will remain.

-Delia Melody

www.youtube.com/c/deliamelody

www.gofundme.com/stillawoman

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For all you trans guys and gals out there or anyone that transcends the gender binary, transcends societal expectations, and above all else transcends hate. 

Models: Chris, Ben and Scott 

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Once again, thank you everyone for reading, enjoying, and sharing this comic.  Not just sharing in the sense of re-posting this comic, (which you should totally do) but also sharing your stories with me, letting my know how my comics have touched you.  It means so much to me.  Love ya!

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