One wouldn’t have to peruse my blog all that long to see that androgyny is a deeply recurring theme, and rightly so; it speaks to the very core of me, being one in the grey, yet one who internally flirts with either extreme when the fancy strikes me, just the same.
If I’m being perfectly honest with myself, this male form I inhabit feels like a fucking prison. I know I’ve admitted as much before, but this fact seems all encompassing at present, robbing me of the precious sleep I wouldn’t otherwise want, but obviously need.
There’s a certain strength in knowing that artistry by its very nature isn’t confined—and in many cases, isn’t defined—by race, gender, or religious credence, and I, being a creature with no connection to any of these things, feel that inalienable truth so keenly.
Still… sleep would be nice. I’m not immune to my own humanity, after all.