Butch. Sweet, protective, hot, needs met, desire contained and loose all at once, conflicted and simple, heart beating, swishing, sweaty, solid, dirty, right there in the tightly knit pocket of my goddamn fluttering gut, my deepest connection, and only home. Where did i start to get over the hotness and start feeling shame for the connection? When did that shame become more important than the truth? Where did my truth go that a person of any bodily configuration can be butch? How have cissexism, transphobia, and ableism caused me to doubt and judge myself as a butch? Butch, which, despite what anyone else may have to say on the matter, if i just gave it half a chance, could certainly contain this fucked up broken-ass disabled trans body, right? This body that feels so […]