Habitual Fixation – Day 678

04 December 2012

I got described as both “butch” and “sexually ambiguous” for the first times in my life.

It’s amazing what the shedding of hair and the donning of a sports bra can do to define one’s gender identity in the midst of a crowd of strangers..

Perhaps if choosing to retard the lumps of fat on my chest and reduce the length of the hairs on my head makes me “more of a man” and “less of a woman” then there may be little more than appearance to the entire division, making the labels of “man and woman” little more than a social construct.

As time goes on, I find myself less and less concerned about my own sexual identity and more concerned with the genuine connectedness between myself and others. As I find myself more educated, the sexual aspects of interactions with other humans appear to decrease with each acquired milestone of intelligence.

Perhaps there isn’t that much more that separates males from females than the generalized rationing of natural hormones and the distinction of being born with either a penis or a vagina. We are the same when it is LOVE we are seeking…there is so little to separate us…why break?

If I insult you enough to be called “butch” for deflecting your unwanted advances upon my person then so be it – I would more readily call my SELF butch and thereby claim the name as something to be proud of…something I can stand beside and say THIS. IS. BEAUTIFUL. than to be ejaculated on by your rigid and carefully manicured sense of “manhood” that so typically serves your purpose.

I am not a sperm collection facility for your erotic and misguided fantasies; I refuse to bear your children – the better left inconceived next-of-kin to the lies and the limits that you and your kind would so generously bequeath to them in zealous, large phallused lordship. Nay, I shant be called upon as if I were some warm sleeve hybrid hired only for your desperate soul’s ineffectual masturbation because

you

cannot

connect

We are all One creature; a living breathing soul. Do not attempt to define me. I am all that has been written – I am all songs ‘have been sung. I am the ladder’s highest rung. It is a thought with which you’re smitten. The notes of a stoic tongue.

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