I graduated bitches, time to become the sexy firefighter of my dreams that the old ladies say are “too pretty to send into fires” but in the way they talk about masculine people
the boyish shorts. the one striped sock. the ‘i perished on the titanic’ vibe. the leather boots, tied on one foot above the ankle. the reference to the gendered/lessness of youth. the smirk. the gilded, extended, spiny outside fingers - drawing reference to the shortly manicured 'inside’ ones. mwah
I want to be ‘she’ in the way a shy, 5'2 punk with short messy hair and a flat chest is 'she’; but I also want to be 'her’ how a badass, immaculately dressed businesswoman, who knows what she wants and always gets it, is 'her’.
And I want to 'he’ in the way a man with a full, neat beard who can rock a deep-necked evening gown is 'he’; but also 'him’ how a young, kind-faced, clean-shaven regency gentleman is 'him’.
And I want to be 'they’ how a hot steampunk force of nature is 'they’; but also 'them’ how a fae in the forest, beautiful and ineffable and singing, and dancing, and dancing, is 'them’.
And I want to use neopronouns how a downbeat punk musician uses neopronouns; I want to use them how a gentle, fresh-faced kid who’s innocent of all that’s fucked up in this world uses neopronouns.
I want to be a trans woman, I want to be a cis man; I want to be an enby punk, a genderfluid steampunk, a trans goth guy; I want to be.
My gender is confusing, but it’s my gender, and I don’t care if it doesn’t make sense.
![[tender, emotional music playing]](https://64.media.tumblr.com/c7a96ae98a0a47f590d6bcb88be742cb/f54ec9b631539052-1f/s30x30u_c1/9ab4887fc2c7044aded225f247b2cfdb9a59cda1.png){kind=small}
