I am doomed to walk the streets like Hester Prynne, in black, unashamed, and with my head held high. Unfortunately these days, my head is bent so far down, all day, the only thing I see is the pointy toe of my black leather shoes. The letter M etched on my breast, on my documents, and the world needing to remind me of it as if a letter defines our gender and our essence.
I am walking around with the remnants of the past year hanging on me like old rags. If I was crafty enough, I would put all my energy in making a quilt. How about that? The trans quilt.
In the middle of all the chaos of the past two weeks, a friend and I sat down to hear Dorothy Allison speak at an Old Lesbians Organizing for Change national gathering. She was brilliant. I was ready…
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