#binary protectors clutching pearls caught in 4k

[cool-now-destroy-it]

Lads, ladies and absolutely everything in between, gather round, gather close!

For I must confess my most grievous apologies to the world. How utterly selfish of me, a mere shadow of existence, to dare to draw breath in a society so deeply, so profoundly inconvenienced by the likes of me. You see, being trans? Why, it’s hardly an ordeal at all!

Of course, it does not weigh on me, not in the slightest. It’s not as if my identity is treated like a stain to be scrubbed out or a weed to be plucked from the pristine garden of humanity.

Oh, no, no, no, far be it from me to suggest such a thing.

How terrifying it must be for you, oh brave protectors of the binary! To see me breathing, walking, persisting. An abomination in your orderly little world of pink and blue. I can only imagine the unbearable agony of your fear. You must lie awake at night, staring at your pristine ceilings, haunted by the specter of my pronouns.

I couldn’t possibly comprehend how terribly frightened you all must be of us. Truly, I am sorry to have unsettled you with my mere existence. What a burden it must be to see us, to hear us, to know we walk among you! The audacity! I shudder to think of the terror you feel when we, oh, I don’t know, ask to be called by our names or request not to be killed. Such radical demands, no wonder you’re all quaking in your boots!

Our pain, our suffering, our daily torment? A mere trifle! It’s not as though I wake every morning to find the weight of my identity pressing against my chest. It's not like its a scream buried so deep in my chest that I can feel it scraping my ribs every time I breathe. It’s not like we carry this anguish around like a warm, familiar blanket, clinging to it, wrapping ourselves in it, because at least it stays with us, at least it doesn’t turn away.

But please, tell me more about your suffering. Tell me how hard it is for you to live in a world where people like me exist. Tell me how we threaten your values, your traditions, your fragile sense of reality. Tell me how inconvenient it is to acknowledge that we are human, that we are here, that we are not going anywhere.

Let me assure you, with all the venom we can muster, we will not stop fighting and we will not stop living, no matter how much it offends you.

Because heres the thing: your fear, your hatred, your desperate, grasping need to erase us? It is nothing. It is hollow. It is the pathetic whimper of a world that knows it is dying.

And I, for one, plan to dance on its grave.