Fuck. I’m not really ready to talk about this one, but I should anyway.

I said in the To Be…What?’s write up that I wrote it, Joy, and one of tomorrow’s poems simultaneously and that they were the first three I wrote intentionally using the number sequence I built this little project around, but they weren’t the first poems written. That dubious honor goes to Anxiety here.

It is a truth universally acknowledged (by trannies) that a newly hatched trans girl will be in need of some fucking affirmations.

When one's gender progression involves becoming what they were denied for so long, the most common step is, unfortunately, to jump right into the shape society has shown them women ideally occupy. Rather than parsing out what shape works best for the individual girl.

My brain is evil.

Ok, that’s maybe a bit harsh, and every mental health professional will tell you to avoid self deprecation even in jest as it still reinforces negative self perception. But, frankly, most of them don’t live with BPD.