#i love being transgender <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[sootends]

i have the face of a man and the body of a hairy woman i love being transgender so much

[traaansfem]

Shoutout to my trans friendly but extremely autistic grandmother who refuses to use They/Them pronouns unless someone is plural because she's dead set against "they's" as a possessive term and "they was" as a past tense indicator of an action because it reminds her of the accent of a long dead and deeply beloathed coworker who picked up most of his accent from pittsburg. Notably she's fine with They/Them as long as someone is plural, and is entirely willing to refer to someone by name or with another term- IE "that person/creature/girlthing/nonbinary gremlin" upon request.

She's something else. Wrote out a check to my new name for my last birthday because "I don't know your clothing preferences or sizes, and if someone bought me an ill fitting blouse that I loved the look of, or a perfectly fit blouse I despise, I'd be quite put out, and you're set on everything else I know you like."

Notably she wrote it out to my new name, and even months later, I haven't even updated my name with the bank yet, as the speed of bureaucracy is abysmal, so I can't even cash it.

Love you grandma! :3

[dailyloopdeloop]

DAY 11: happy trans day of visibility!

[uncanny-tranny]

What is a man (a non-comprehensive list):

Frolicking in a field at dusk

Peeling paint on an old house

The smell "Clean Cotton" as a Yankee Candle® candle

Sunflowers facing each other

Embers left over after a bonfire

A threat to the security of Nebraska

Your lungs filled with winter air

Accelerating your car before a turn

Old 50s music about a man's love for his woman played on a turntable

Cracked mirrors

A miserable pile of secrets

[homoer0tic]

over the many years of my life, i constantly see people saying "gay ppl make being gay their WHOLE personality" or other people saying "well I'm gay but I'm not like THOSE gays" and it's like. well. maybe I LOVE that being queer is fundamental part of my personality. maybe i have found pride in who i am as a Person because of queer media, queer people, and queer spaces. maybe i think that queerness is inherently tied to my self-growth. maybe i find queer literature, queer theology, queer art, queer politics, queer music, and every queer field to be extremely important to not only myself but the entire world. maybe i think that displaying queer pride so openly and honestly will help younger queers find themselves.

i love that my gender is absolutely fucked and my sexuality is all over the place. I love finding all the little nuances in everything that society tells you is supposed to be black and white. I love finding and using labels when I want them and discarding them when I don't. I love being queer and maybe that's more than okay.

[cloudy-moth]

I will always insert transsexuality in my homework god bless <3

Alt text color under cut

[will-pilled]

How to get a boyfriend as a trans masc no borax no glue

[desastre-fag]

i used to feel like i wasnt ‘trans enough’ because im chill with my man cave like 95% of the time and everyone else just expects me to want a real cock! like honestly i think testosterone and top surgery are my end goals of transitioning right now and if in the future i want a cock then ill try and get one but i literally do not care at the moment.

if you want another example of how bad my high school friend group were one of them was obsessed with me getting a cock and used to ask if she would be able to see it. when id be like uh no itll be MY cock and thats my privacy? she’d say well ill just jump you when you get out of the shower (the group used to have plans of all living together in the future) and pull off your towel so i can look.

um anyways moral of the post youre ‘trans enough’ no matter how far you want or dont want to medically transition and i love you all mwah

[bizarreaizen]

when you use/have many names, many pronouns, many genders, many microlabels and if you had the money you would definitely be a collector/hoarder of random stuff TwT /lh

[joonebugg]

Why did Horror came back home all stained with lipstick

We fagged it up earlier

[babyforestnymph]

happy tdov 😽 have some sleepy selfies <3

(he/they)

[cosmictap]

Mr Bonzos on his way!

He wants to stay!

He wants to play!

Mr Bonzos on his way!!

He wants to stay!!

He wants to play! With you!

[girztacoz]

it's almost 11pm, and I'm dressing like a femboy :3

the outfit would genuinely look so much better if I didn't have tits tho 😓

[scamera-writes]

Her. An Essay.

The spring air lies heavy in your lungs as you breathe in deeply, the bright smells assault your nose and waves of nostalgia roll off the hills. You know this is her favorite season so you’ve dressed prepared for the chill in the air.

It's a long walk to the meadow with a shovel in hand and wheelbarrow pushed in front of you, but you do it. When you get there, a girl smiles up at you from where she is playing in the grass.

You know her age, but do not say it. You know her name, but do not say it. You know her, but do not say it.

She says hello in that sweet mellow tone that sounds so foreign yet so similar and tastes like syrup on your tongue. Her eyes are wide and shining, but blissfully not tear stained- like your own- and her cheeks are round with a warm flush as her smile softens.

You do not meet her eyes, those same beautifully colored eyes that match yours, searching for a hint as to what you’re doing here. You gaze across the meadow instead but still catch a glimpse of her blue denim overalls and green shirt.

They match your own in a way.

You finally say hi back and take the shovel to the dirt under a beautifully perfect sycamore tree that arches into the sky; it rises before the two of you, right in the middle of the meadow. The dirt stains your clothes as you drop to your knees, using your hands more than the shovel to dig at the layered earth.

You hear soft footsteps behind you but don’t look up from your work. To your side you see the girl walk up to you again and she places a small flower behind your ear before grinning and moving to lay in the sun near you.

You pluck the flower out from behind your ear to examine it. A white petunia. A wistful familiarity to the flower washes over you and you tuck it back behind your ear before moving back to the freshly unearthed dirt.

You can feel her watching as you dig this pit, you hate the feeling of dirt under your fingernails. The mud cakes on your hands and crackles with every movement; it makes your skin crawl but you don’t give up now. After a small hole is dug, you grab the large stone and tools brought in the wheelbarrow and begin to carve. She sits next to you now, her smaller hands grip a rock in her own palms and she plays with it gently.

You carve a name you didn’t think you’d ever write again into the rock and place it at the top of the pit. She recognizes the name, tips her head smiling gently, and in an understanding manner she stands up.

And walks away. Around the back of the sycamore tree she disappears and then reappears.

She plucks a sycamore leaf off the ground when she´s visible again and looks up as you smile at her. She drops the leaf into the hole you've dug, then helps you repack the layers of sediment that you both know you’ll unearth again, in the future, to be intertwined together in the end.

But not now. Now, the earth is resealed and she smiles sweetly, laying a makeshift bouquet of petunias and poppies with a gentle hand.

You get up and hold a hand out for her, she doesn't look away from the earth you've both just moved and instead runs her hands over the top of the rocks again before sighing with a big smile. She gets up and grabs your hand, it's so much smaller and softer than yours yet you can still feel the dirt on both of your hands.

She grips your hand a little tighter, following your lead as you walk towards home, flower still tucked behind your ear you notice a matching flower behind her own. And you smile.

When you get closer to the house, her eyes are wide with soft recognition, a place so familiar to the both of you yet it feels cold and empty at the same time. You invite her inside again, it's been so long for you both, still the house is like an old friend, in a way. You hold open the door and she steps through.

She walks over to the dinner table and sits down at the far side, gesturing for you to sit on the other but you shake your head politely.

You aren't ready yet.

You ask if she’d like a drink, and she nods. You already know what she would like so you don’t have to wait for her to tell you. Passing over the tall glass with ice clinking in it feels like a ritual. You don't want to let go. You do. You sit down across from her.

You know what's coming next and it's hard. You know you have to accept it. Losing her again won't be easy but you know it's not permanent this time.

She takes small sips of her drink, smiling over to you but neither of you attempt to make small talk anymore, you both know how the interaction will end.

And it's not bittersweet. Neither of you are upset. She is content in a way you don’t think you quite understand yet. But you think you feel complete, whole and peaceful for possibly the first time in your life.

It's enjoyable to watch her glowing eyes look at you with respect and admiration, to be able to grow into what you did makes her heart beat with something adjacent to love.

And as you leave the house, knowing you will be reunited in the end, to be buried in love & hate, happiness & anger, and warmth & heartache. You know it's love. It's always been love.

For her.

-Her. An Essay. (By me)

Happy trans visibility day. This is an ode to the girl I was. We will be buried together in the end. I love you, take care.

[uncanny-tranny]

I love religious trans people who undertake the traditions of their gender or the traditions of a different gender...

Like trans people of all stripes wearing hijab!

Like trans people of all stripes wearing kippah or tzitzit!

Like trans people who are mixing it up, or exploring what they feel best in!

When trans people exist, and are proudly and loudly religious as well, my heart sings for them <3

[queen0funova]

I was at a cute little poetry circle recently, and I read a poem of mine inspired by my favorite poem. "Batter My Heart, Transgender’d God" by Meg Day (I'll put that poem under the cut). Someone then turned to me and asked if my "Batter My Heart" was the inspiration for it. Apparently they're the one who introduced the poem to the person who introduced me to it

Batter My Heart, Transgender’d God by Meg Day:

Batter my heart, transgender’d god, for yours

is the only ear that hears: place fear in my heart

where faith has grown my senses dull & reassures

my blood that it will never spill. Show every part

to every stranger’s anger, surprise them with my drawers

full up of maps that lead to vacancies & chart

the distance from my pride, my core. Terror, do not depart

but nest in the hollows of my loins & keep me on all fours.

My knees, bring me to them; force my head to bow again.

Replay the murders of my kin until my mind’s made new;

let Adam’s bite obstruct my breath ’til I respire men

& press his rib against my throat until my lips turn blue.

You, O duo, O twin, whose likeness is kind: unwind my confidence

& noose it round your fist so I might know you in vivid impermanence.