at this point I’m tired of putting “prefer not to answer” on my job applications when they ask me my gender. Remove the question. I will never answer. My identity is a surprise you find out at the interview when I show up appearing as gender ambiguous as humanly possible in order to disguise the fact I am thousands of bees in a skin suit. No I am not buzzing. There was no option for Hive Insects on the form. This was your decision. I am consequences.
I love you, fandom renditions of classical paintings. I don’t even know who your beloved blorbos are half the time but whenever I see a depiction of two anime characters embracing a la Gustav Klimt’s The Kiss or scroll past a gorgeous illustration of a hauntingly beautiful, angrily weeping twink in the style of Alexandre Cabanel’s The Fallen Angel you just KNOW I’m letting out a “yippee!” and clicking my gay little heels together
concealing a terrible wound not out of pride, necessity, or even a guilty lack of self-worth, but for the simple pleasure of knowing something that nobody else does
