Gender doesn’t exist to me. Not now. In this wave of american fascism and the resurgence of oppressive gender roles and regulations, gender has lost its meaning to me. The two options are so obviously constructed that I must resort to thinking completely outside of the binary created and upheld.
Yes, I’m a guy, my pronouns are he and him. But more than that, I am the folk. A face in the sea of generational change. A supportive shoulder to your right.
My chest holds scars the same way your hand, your arm, your back, your tummy does - a story to be told, to one day be buried in the layers of this living planet, all at once a thing of the past and the present, while the future keeps spinning.
The individual and the collective optimism of humanity. I am bare feet against the ground and humble art. An animal with its face bathed in sunlight, just like the good folk next to me.
Are you here?