The Woman Within

Every child in town seemed to like me a lot... But the person who lived inside my head did NOT! I hated myself inside and it felt like such treason Now, please don't ask why. I didn’t quite yet know the reason. It could be my head wasn't screwed on just right. It could be, perhaps, that I always felt fright. But I think that the most likely reason to be May have been that I was a woman inside you see. Whatever the reason, my heart or my soul I rued each day that I was not truly made whole, Looking inside myself with that virtual frown, I felt incomplete and that just brought me down While everyone I knew seemed happier all around I felt every other person was simply bequeathed With a blissful congruity of their gender beneath As they lived their lives plainly without being sheathed “And they seem so happy!” I muttered in a way no one could hear “I’m becoming a man in not many years!” Then I thought in my head, my thoughts were just

Many transgender individuals seem to take pictures of themselves for a number of reasons. While many who are outside the community (and within as well) might often consider it as a form of narcissism, fetishism or something else, it is often much more than that. Although not exclusively a rule, I see the general trend that those individuals who have felt trapped in having to play an acting role in the play of their own lives tend to take pictures for reasons other than narcissism .  It's a way to capture the woman inside them and to have that with them for when they have to revert to playing their acting role in the gender they do not identify with. It gives one something to hold onto, ephemeral and intangible as it may be. It is a way to ask for critiquing among peers as they try to find and hone their true identity for the first time. It is a memory and a window back to a short period of happiness in having been able to express as one truly identifies and a picture can car

I was going to get my hair done next week but a look in the mirror yesterday morning convinced me that I was starting to look like Diana Ross. That evening I found myself sitting in the chair getting my hair done when one of the hair stylists passed by several times, her eyes intently glued on me. She had done this the last time I was in too and now it was just getting me a bit weirded out. . You probably know where I'm going with this already and, yes, when someone is really intently staring at me I tend to wonder if they are trying to figure me out. Afterwards, when my coiffure du'jour was completed, she came by and apologized saying, "I hope you don't mind but every time you come in here I just can't get over how well made up you are; your skin is amazing and you are just so beautiful". Well that just surprised me as I was not expecting anything like that. . I thanked her and before I knew it my hair stylist and two others had joined in the

I shudder at times when I look back on my blog, at my writings and my posts from years ago.  It's like a different person was writing, a different person was living, a different person was seeing.  How do I begin this entry?  Where do I start?  There are so many things that have changed in my life that it's like the person who wrote, who lived just a few short years before, was someone else... someone else who saw the world through blinders, through rose colored glasses and who swam through life in the shallow waters of some swimming pool.  Now the woman staring back in the mirror is swimming for her life in deeper waters of the the blue Atlantic toward the distant shore of lands at the edge of a limitless horizon. Those still happily playing in the shallow end of the pool, surrounded by the safety of the ladders and the lifeguards can scarcely perceive that the swim I am making is one for my life now.  I'm not drowning but I cannot stop where I am now.  The tides and c