beard.

when i came home from my trip, you cried and told me you hated my hair. you said you thought i wanted to be a boy. and i won't lie and say that peeing my name into the snow doesn't seem fun, but i told you it was a silly fear. i don't want to be a boy, i said.

i'm doing drag soon. some days i bind because i want to pass, even if i can only fool them before i start talking and the vocal chords i always think are much deeper than they actually are start vibrating. but, i know my chest is under that too-tight ace bandage. i know that my breasts are still in tact and begging me to unwrap them. i know there is nothing between my legs that i wasn't born with. i know that the shape of my body is anything but manly. i know all of this.

i don't want to be a boy.
but, sometimes, i just want to grow a full beard. and i thought you should know.