pretty.

pretty.

i look in the mirror as i dance, the music makes me so happy… i move and i sing…

it’s after work, i’m stripped down to my underwear, just a bikini, pink with a little lace edging. tight…

i’ve still got my earrings, gold hoops, on… and my necklace, green beads and silver beads and gold beads… the long night at work didn’t destroy my makeup and the dusk around my eyes, under my brow, is powerfully alluring… my green eyes peer out from behind long dark lashes and the lids are like the dark rose in the desert sunset…

the music is African… from Mali. and it’s so strong… unconsciously i sway, rolling my hips in small circles, relaxed and slow… i look in the mirror as i dance…

i see myself. happy that time and life continue to give me space to grow into and more to the point now: outside of. as a first step. a first step toward… no direction, no in, no out, no you, no me… crazy man, crazy. it is crazy to dissolve certainties and risk the awareness that something is really not what it seems to be in all of this crazy, Man crazy world.

Man. …crazy is too nice a word.

i’ve resigned, but now comes the hard part (or maybe just another hard part).

so it is a smile to see me today, dancing “like a girl” but free from self-conscious need to “do it right”, this is me, a male… a male with altered hormonal balance, a male letting himself Her himself out of hurting himself as “He”.

what an insane conceit we hold to when we deny that females and males are indivisibly and interchangeably related beyond a degree that any idea of separation is conceivable except when carefully understood to be symbolic, a trick, a cheat… the cosmos is what runs in our veins. the sea… the stars… this isn’t poetry, its physics. truly we are an integrated infinite life form, beyond space and time. Man culture denies this to us.

this girl in front of me… me… is a male.

males grow breasts when given the chance. males might even be able to love, and dance.

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