Being trans or lesbian or whatever isn’t some burden that I carry around like some pious martyr crawling at the feet of society hoping to be accepted for my differences, my disease of transness. Again, fuck that.
I love me. Being me isn’t a burden, it’s a pleasure and I’ve never been happier, believe that. Frankly, I don’t give a damn who approves, disapproves, likes, agrees with, or any other crap about being accepted by a bunch of unhappy conformists.
Being trans isn’t a burden. Honey, this shit is a gift.
I don’t give a shit who doesn’t like it when I use the women’s restroom or wear skinny jeans or go serve in the military or…gasp…(whisper this next part) be a CEO…(come closer as I whisper quieter behind pursed lips) or, “heaven forbid it becomes a politician, can you imagine the havoc it’ll bring, think of the children!”. Yeah, I’m still here. Yeah, I’m still going. And yeah, I’m still a woman. And no, I wouldn’t change it if I could.
I’m a woman with a little extra and a lot of confidence and I love both. When I walk into a room, I belong.
I am unapologetic of who I am
I am proud of who I am
I love me
I don’t need anyone’s approval for any of it.
I got no apologies for how I was made or my existence or for anyone’s disapproval.
I’m crushing life and I’m going nowhere.
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