[blush]

I am femme.

This past week, I chopped my hair off super short. I needed to look at myself differently. I needed to not equate femme, with, well, femme. It’s easy to slap some high heels on and do my nails, and call it done. But this year has been hard, and I’ve relied on compliments and worn-down thought patterns to tell me what MY femme-ness is.

Haven’t we all been there? Those moments or days or months or years when carving ourselves out of mashed potatoes just isn’t happening? When you realize you can’t back it up? The heels are there, the hair is there, the nails are there…and it all just makes you tired.
So I chopped off my hair to fuck with my femme-ness, to see if it was as easy as wearing high heels or curling my hair. It’s not, but we all knew that.

And I’ve come up with my truths:

I am femme because I say so.

I am femme because it describes my strength, not my weakness.

I am femme and a burlap sack couldn’t hide it, and encyclopedias couldn’t describe it.