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Some days I fantasize about peeling away my womanhood. I think about a delicate hold on the flesh that others deemed ‘She’. I dream of a firm tug, then euphoric release.

Strip lashes, brassieres, and misogynoir left behind on a bathroom floor.

The easy and graceful fall of Her and the emergence some Other Thing within me that has remained elusive, standoffish even as I beckon it forward to name it.

Some days, I indulge and delight in the Unknown and Unable to Be Known nestled deep in my being.

But only some days.

My pronouns are She/Her/Hers.


Author (Girls Can!), poet, superstar.

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