They

04Mar13

they

doesn’t fit into your boxes

of her, him, or hir.

they doesn’t feel like your daughter,

or son,

but your child, your blood.

their identity is their own,

one you can’t complete with your

two dimensional

gendered eyes that create a world of

blue, and pink.

to them,

this life is a colossal mixture,

of purples, yellows, greens and browns,

of masculinity,

femininity,

and the inexplainable immersion of sex roles,

into the sea beyond the gender binary so many refuse to acknowledge.

and within the she’s and he’s,

I am them, their, and they,

a human being,

with worries of not being enough,

in one community,

or another.


Homoshit

03Feb13

I’ve been feeling very uneasy with myself lately. Very out of sorts, and out of sync with myself and my emotions. I’m not sure if I’m going through another transitional period in my life, but this is relating to my identity, gender identity that is. I’ve already established that I prefer not to box myself in when I’m looking for a prospective romantic partner (In other words I date who I date, cisgender or not..) But my gender identity has been somewhat sporadic throughout the past year or so. And fucking fuck, it’s confusing. My identity has become so incredibly fluid, and I do not have an issue with who I am as a person, at all, but I guess I just dislike feeling out of place. The only reason I attempt to “box” myself into an identity, or label, is so I can feel like I have some sort of understanding that I am not alone in this genderfucking bullshit. I guess gender fluid or queer does fit, considering I am always changing, on a day to say basis. I’ve recently realized that instead of it being a mix of “male” and “female,” it’s more of masculine and feminine energies I float between. I mean of course right? The whole “male” and “female” thing kind of defeats the purpose don’t you think? To me personally, that’s still establishing that there are still only two sexes, or identities, and that is obviously not the case. There has to be some point where there is a sort of graying area, a mix between all of the identities people have come to be over the past 50 years or so.

I’ve also been nervous lately… no maybe not nervous. Maybe scared of the fact that I am sort of experiencing gender dysphoria to an extent. Some days I enjoy my feminine chest. Other days I wish I were rid of them, so I am able to sport around topless (if it were the summertime, haha.) and have it be “socially acceptable,” but to also be able to feel a masculine, flatter chest. I just find myself becoming uncomfortable with my physical apparence at times. I do walk around my house, alone, shirtless at times and imagine it being so ^^^. I’ve contemplated purchasing a binder before, but now it’s becoming more and more of an appealing option. No no, not binding full-time, but when I feel it’s necessary, just as any other trans* identified person whom feels it is necessary to bind as well, would do. Did I mention I love the whole asterisk deal that’s being used? All inclusive. Equality. I adore it.

Anyway, When a job becomes available to me, I’m thinking I am going to buy a binder. I’ve also contemplated mixing my clothing choices up (not that I have the money to do so, but still) to fit my more versatile feeling self. I guess I’ve just been scared because “female,” is all I’ve ever known. I was socialized this way, but I never felt like I really was the ideal, role model type of “woman” everyone expected/expects me to be. And I am not one to live my life for others, no fucking way. I’ve just known something was always slightly different with myself. That of which I am a-okay with, completely. I wouldn’t change myself, not one bit. But, I would enjoy if this journey were a little easier done, than “said.” The other evening, I got into an argument with my father, about not acting like an appropriate “girl,” and well, I just burst out and screamed in his face that I in fact, “wasn’t a fucking girl.” He was confused but I didn’t pursue it further. I do not owe him an explanation. But again, another little epiphany had happened. I realized that it pissed me off, that he referred to me as female. It pisses me off a lot actually when people express to me, that when I choose not to shave my legs, “it is disgusting,” and “un-lady-like.” But on the other hand… I often get angered when people even use male identified slang, “yo man,” “yeah dude.” It’s like…. no. That’s not right, but the other option isn’t right either…. It’s all soo….confusing. Like my identity is just a colossal mixture of….nothing, but everything. I don’t know. Why do I have to identify as anything anyway, on a societal basis, totally disregarding my statement about trying to identify myself on a personal basis. Society has just constructed this false thing called “gender.” It’s such a stupid, silly concept. Arghhhh.

And then I see all of this, not trans* enough, not queer enough bullshit, everywhere. It’s like…no. Shut the fuck up. I don’t even care to know what people think about me. But when it comes to the fact where someone is going to accuse another of “not being enough” to fulfill their identity, it just really grinds my gears. Who are YOU to tell THAT person (or myself for that matter) HOW WE feel, think, and whatever else have you. I look like a chick. I feel like a queer, femme, dykey, trans* person who loves to FUCK anyone of any identity THEY feel THEY are. I imagine myself having a penis when I’m fantasizing about feminine bodied or identified persons. I get dominant with feminine identified persons, and submissive with masculine identified persons. But that’s not ALWAYS the case, because I am ALWAYS CHANGING. Sex roles do not even matter in my immediate argument right now.

I enjoy growing my body hair out. Long leg hair makes me happy. Long armpit hair makes me happy. But then there are days where I say, “eh, what the fuck I’m going to shave today.” I wear makeup, I love pretty clothes, I’ve given up wearing bras, I like wearing boxers,….. it could go on forever. I’m here, I’m queer, get over it.

End little rant. I’ll figure it out. Or maybe I won’t, at this point, I’m realizing I need to just go with the flow. No pun intended, haha. Alright, I think that’s about it.


Another.

20Nov12

She’s hard to read underneath

the somber December skies.

She’ll leave you with a kiss on the cheek,

but no hand to save you

from the depths of her horrendous subconscious

you will soon find yourself drowning in,

hopelessly lost amongst the scars of faded memories

that once painted her life golden.

She’s afraid;

afraid of the inability to hold, to touch, and intertwine

her fingers in something that can only be felt; love.

Her eyes draw you in,

there are a many of untold truths and

stories beneath them that her tongue can no longer verbalize.

But the cracks in her heart do not outweigh

your desire to immerse your soul into hers,

only to become one being of sheer bliss,

with intentions of prosperity.

Serendipity cannot stop her from fleeing,

you are unfortunately too late to attempt

to engrave your happiness into her bones,

the bones which have been cursed by death.


As I find myself completely scatter-brained tonight and completely unable to focus on my school work, here I am, trying to get some of my thoughts in a blog so I can stop over-thinking and analyzing everything. Onward with writing and singing very loudly, and out of key simultaneously. 🙂

I have made the decision to move back home, and I could not be any happier. California is lovely- to visit. But living wise, it is not for me. The east coast is where I belong, and that shall remain so. I guess by moving, I have realized where I’m supposed to be. I’ve allowed myself to take a chance, a risk, something that I very rarely let happen; unfortunately it didn’t work out, but at least I can say I tried my best. I do not have any regrets whatsoever. This definitely was an experience, one I will take with me along my way throughout life. I will not be wondering “what if?” I feel like since I have left New York, I can truly say I feel myself finally growing up. What I mean is that, for the past 18 years, I have disassociated myself with my age in some ways. Some ways I feel like I’m in my mid-twenties, and others I feel like a child that was forced to fit into an 18 year old’s role in society. I guess in some ways I was, considering I was forced to give up a huge part of my innocence at a very young age. Anyway, the point is, I feel completely liberated. In a sense that I am extremely more independent than I was in the past. I’ve always had dependency issues; on my parents, on friends, on lovers during relationships. I’ve always been independent in the ways where I am capable of being alone and being happy, but dependency issues in the way of relying on people the way a child would. For comfort, for food, shelter, etc. (I’m sort of contradicting my statement, but I’m aware that I suck at explaining how I feel in elaborate terms. whomp_) Now that I am forced to get things done on my own, I feel excellent.

Up until recently I have been feeling extremely low about myself. I felt as if I were reverting back to my old self, being depressed, lonely, tired all of the time, lacking motivation to do anything. And then I spoke to a friend who just completely inspired me; it gave me a little smack in the face. I am in utter and complete control of my happiness, and I am not going to let myself fall back to “who” I was in the past. It’s all about mind over matter. Being aware and conscious of my feelings, and evaluating that most of them are unnecessary. Self-awareness is and was a huge part of my mental recovery. If I keep positive energies and thoughts flowing, I will feel, and thus project positivity. If I dwell in the negative, mopey, miserable old subconscious thinking, she’ll come back- the Liz I’ve battled with for years. I don’t like her, I do not welcome her, therefore, she no longer exists. I am re-claiming my sanity and it is fucking fabulous.

As for general lame things going on in my life, I have incredible marks in my classes. In this department, I can pat myself on my back and not be ashamed that I was blessed with a functioning mind in the academic departments. I’ve only proven to myself that I was, and have been, capable of accomplishing anything I set my mind to, all along. Anyone who ever doubted me, or even when I have doubted myself, I’ve only shown that I can do this….I can “do” life. (That sounds slightly inappropriate_).

I have no friends here, other than three some-what acquaintances in two of my classes, but that’s alright. I now know who my true friends are; they have stuck beside me through almost everything. I have all of the friends I need back home, and I cannot wait to be re-joined with them all. You really don’t understand how much appreciation you have for someone, or some people, until you don’t have them alongside you everyday. And I am so overly grateful for all of my little munchkins in my life, they truly make me happy. My adopted family.

The romance department……we’ll I might just keep this one hush, hush… for a certain someone has access to my blog (if they still keep up with it_). But, if you are reading this, (you should be aware of who you are_) this is a somewhat subtle message, rather an extremely vague one.. That is all. 🙂

Well.. Life just keeps throwing me curveballs. I am forever changing, as I always say. I keep learning new things, keep experiencing things, and I am over joyed with the fact that regardless of where I have been, I know I’ll end up somewhere great. And so it always, always, always goes up from here.


Untilted

13Oct12

And those feelings just seem to keep creeping up from time to time,

I looked in your eyes and realized I never had you from the beginning.

Uncertainty clouds the mind, and karma flows endlessly along with the air I breathe.

I’m choking,

Reaching out for a hand that isn’t there; it isn’t there anymore.

Questions still unanswered, I walk alone into the dark tunnel of my mind,

Constantly seeking out the light I can maybe someday drown in, relish in once more.

Too broken to love again, fear overwhelms my heart that’s held together by a simple stitch.

No longer hurting, but a recurring feeling of nostalgia.

To feel whole; to share a happiness with another entity.

Something always brings me back to you, why?

Why?

Walk away.

Just Keep Walking.


After having struggled for years with a depression that was so mentally/emotionally and physically debilitating, I’ve managed to find some sort of balance in my daily life. Or have I? I swore to myself that once I got to the point of maintaining an emotional equilibrium, I would do everything in my power to never fall back down the many flights of stairs I’ve climbed throughout my life.

I am constantly haunted by the memories of my past, almost disgusted by them in a sense. My alter-ego scares me the most. I’ve battled her, myself, in the mirror day after day. She likes to stir things up; she plants horrible thoughts into my head, feelings of worthlessness, anger, hatred. Hatred for the fact that she used to have her hands wrapped so tightly around my throat, my mind; consuming any ounce of positive energy I attempted to fight her off with.

Though I do my best to walk through life with no regrets, it’s a very hard goal to attain. Without the mental reminders bothering me, I am left with the physical signs of some form of weakness. (Or at least in my eyes) I’ve talked about how bothersome my scars are to me, my character, and my confidence. I had almost gotten over the fact that I have to live with them up until a recent incident; a stranger that had spoken to me at the bus stop one day after class literally grabbed my arm mid-conversation and asked me what they were from. You fucking know what they are from, you know why they are there; it’s an obvious answer to your blatantly ignorant asshole question, so why the hell do you even have the balls to ask such a personal one when you have just met me? That only reassured my anxiety of wondering if people always notice them, or if they are staring at them. That put me down a bit. I strive so incredibly hard to walk with my head held high, but maybe it’s the little things that really irk me, rather than the big picture. I know what I’ve been through, I know how I’ve dealt with certain situations, and I know I haven’t dealt with much in the most productive or positive ways so to speak. But I can’t seem to escape my past, no matter how hard I truly try.

But, maybe I’m not supposed to forget. I know there is reasoning behind every little action, every word spoken, every struggle and failure. But I will always wonder why? I’m a very perceptive person, and I have a compulsion to know how things work, why they work, and to understand the process. I always have a need to know what is going on, even if I can only achieve this by observing; which I do more than anything.

A constant theme that has been relayed to me from many different people I speak to is having self-control. I’d think that being such a control freak over myself as it is, I would have this ability down pat. But, I have yet to master this skill. Maybe it is a matter of time, just as everyone is saying. But I need to figure out a way to train my mind, to force myself to understand that I will be okay. That my paranoia will eventually subside. I guess after all of the hurt I have endured this is my subconscious putting that guard extremely high, so I almost disassociate myself from any situation that could cause some form of pain. But that’s another challenge in itself. The face that I won’t allow myself to fully open up to anyone who comes my way. And I’ve said it time and time again, the fear that one will not accept my flaws and weaknesses is inevitable.

All that I know is, I contradict the shit out of myself on the daily. My emotions pinball back and forth from balance to discontent. For now though, I’ll blame it on one person, and one person alone. Fuck you Aunt Flow!!!


3.

17Sep12

They say it’s all about timing, reason, fate.

Yet you fail to read; you fail to see the fine print inscribed into my bones, my soul.

You say your heart is burning with passion, but all I can taste is the smoke of your lies filling my lungs.

Slowly suffocating me as I drown in the abyss of perpetual darkness that dominates anything I believe to be serene.

As I swim into the oceans of your subconscious, I cannot help but find happiness in the fact that you are as madly insane as I.

Intertwining fingers, your touch is merely mundane.

You’re slipping away, as I find myself grasping at nothing but air.

You are gone.

Floating freely along with the autumn leaves into the night.

Leaving me with simply nothing but the ashes of your love; your crushed hopes and dreams you once dwelled so deeply on, that

when you lost everything, you lost yourself.

Lost yourself in the pits of hell; reality.

Nostalgia overwhelms the mind when you’re in the game; scoring touchdowns of absolute failure, you long to go back to your safe

haven near the field of flowers you once enjoyed praying in.

Now to a God that will not answer your cries; juggling a faith that no longer nourishes the soul to maintain that euphoric,

homeostatic environment.

Only to see that deceit is lurking around every corner you turn.

Fly away.

Back to the place you call home.

Back to innocence.

When opportunities for a bright future existed in the palms of your hands.