Molds, boxes and other containers

Fitting into the mold of someone else’ idea of what you should be is tiring. I’m me, I’m not you, I have my own beliefs and my own identity. I don’t have it all figured out and my mind isn’t made up about anything. I have lived a good part of a standard lifetime and my glass is still half-full, so there is still space to believe the impossible, to dream and to want more. I am a girl in my head, my body doesn’t fit the brain. You don’t have to believe it, I don’t require you to do anything at all for this to be a reality.

 

I hide what I hide, from whom I wish to hide it. I will come out to those I want to come out to, it’s my choice, no one else’s. I may not fit the idea of a transsexual for a lot of people, I may not behave how most wish I would. My life is determined, for better or worse, by me. I have made bad choices, I have regrets, but they are owned by me. And guess what? I will make bad choices again, hopefully not the same ones as before. 

 

I am a girl. I like ice cream and I don’t like cabbage. These are indisputable facts about me. I’m actually pretty simple if you take all the bullshit away.

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