Not that it’s particularly different any other night, but I thought I would take a little time to be a feminist and equal rights activist. First, I want to address lighter fare, as the heavier topics may leave my heart heavy.
I watched a movie tonight. I’m going to share with you a clip gleaned from Youtube. Imitation of Life is a movie about racial identity and the role of women in society in the late 50’s. Might I note that if any man stood in my way, I’d punch his lights out. Also, Jesus was probably closer to black than white. Apparently, we all bleed red, so I think it’s irrelevant.
Next, I want to point out a movie I watched recently called Iron Jawed Angels. It’s about the American’s suffrage movement. It was amazing.
Lastly, I want to address something serious. I debated making a separate post, but I think we’re on the subject of equality, and we might as well acknowledge that equality should be uniform over all identification. There is not a race, a gender, a sexuality, a sex that takes precedence over filling our lungs with air. If is does not matter, while we take our last breath, who helps us live or be comforted, why should it matter any other second in our life?
Noah is a trans man. Noah is my boyfriend. Noah is my light, the electricity in my synapses, the organizer of my cluttered heart, my favorite chord, my raw poetry. Noah is my best friend. How can I describe to anyone the love I feel for him? Do I try to quantify it?
My love is blind and vast and unaltered; it cannot be amended because of gender. It will not falter because of an idea, a role, or a neat little theoretical box.
How do I identify? Trans men everywhere lose partners to a notion that a gay woman needs to only date women. Are these women making decisions based on peer groups, attraction levels post-hormone therapies, stress from the physical transition of their partner’s surgery? Do they balk because the body they fuck and sleep next to is different? I do know that my attraction to Noah will change over his transition. I’ll call it an evolution. A partner is someone I have decided to be near, to share thoughts with, to watch laugh, to argue about government with. I do not need a gender to complicate my interactions. I’m Asperger’s enough as is.
Yes, I am attracted to andro girls. Yes, I identify as queer. Yes, I am dating a man. I will make love to him. I don’t have to define to anyone exactly how.
I am a motherfucking umbrella. I like a James Dean attitude, a dapper way with women, someone who won’t smear my red lipstick until I’m not in public eye, someone who flusters me, and a good solid eye-roll. I like being treated like a queen in the middle of the woods, with a backpack on my back, twigs in my hair. I demand a warm heart, a command of romance, and absolute pig-headedness.
I am a star, god dammit. I am his lover. I identify as globally instated royalty of the garden, ruler of the clean cooking, and wearer of pants and apron. So, to that girl on some trans show I watched two years ago, who dumped her partner because of top surgery because she felt like “I’m only myself if I’m all the way lesbian”: Suck. my. dick.
I can’t wait until I can get a little bit of this over the summer:
And a whole lot of this:
I’m damn excited to be close to Noah again. In less than two month, it will have been four years. I miss that kid like crazy. And HUZZAH! WE WILL LIVE TOGETHER! AT LAST!
Fuck, I’m hungry.