The Politics of Self Identification

I do not find solace in being ‘safe’.
It’s actually an experience quite the opposite for me; unnerving to say the least.
Repressive. Confining. Fictitious.


I don’t enjoy passing by virtue of my inherently feminine nature.
I can not wear my sexuality on my sleeve in the same manner that some of my more masculine female, feminine male, androgynous and everything in between ** thereby ‘presumably obvious’ ** counterparts do. For that I am, I don’t know …sorry.
Sorry in that I often wish I could wear my love for queer / gay / lesbian / SGL women, F2Ms, transgenders and transvariants as if it were my smile.

Jealous too.
Jealous in that I often feel relegated to putting forth extra effort to proclaim my existence. Whether it be verbal, written, on a t-shirt or otherwise I hate having to inform the masses.



Sexuality, sexual preference and gender identity shouldn’t be presumed.
…don’t I sound delusional, lol?



I do enjoy defying perceptions though.
The furrowed brows, gasps, embarrassment and looks of disdain.
I enjoy being the ‘other’. A disruption of the heteronormative flow.
It makes my blood rush.

I hate the questions though. I loathe them.

‘But why?’

…I’m sorry, what is it that you don’t understand?

More often than not I get that from heterosexual men; baffled by the thought that I’m not interested in all they have to offer me.



I am a femme.
I adore hair / nail salons, false lashes, 4” heels, purse shopping and makeup.

black nationalist. black feminist. non conformist. queer.

I don’t care to identify though a label, even one that is self imposed, but I am often left feeling like I have no other choice.



I went to the supermarket tonight and among other things, the male cashier called me ‘Ma’ more times than I could count. His voice was markedly different with me than with the customer before …dropped an octave or so lower. His eye lids seemed heavier ...bedroom I'm guessing.
His juvenile attempts at flirting.

I didn’t have the energy to set him straight but I didn’t entertain him either…no smile, eye contact. Nothing.
I’m sure he had a few choice words for me when he realized I was blatantly ignoring him.

I paid and left.


…but I passed.
I was angry with myself afterward.