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I tread stained, abandoned battlefields of the middle-sex gauche… Stoic reserve confines dutifully what I cannot stomach to label. A recipe gone awry, a fate twisted in much too masculine a manner for this venus-struck form… An estranged estrogen cage filled with promises, dreams, and lines of communication all broken beyond repair.
Sympathetic consolation, or even apathetic explanation are so belatedly useless now that all I ask is another androgynous hand to counter mine along this painstakingly awkward trek of the gender undefined.
Dear Diary, All I want for christmas is to finally be the man I've always hoped to be . . . I often wonder if there's anyone out there who understands or who's willing to just help me along the way. It's so hard! This transition will either be my gateway to a better life as I've always dreamed of it .. . . or my death.
