A little light thinking..

I am writing this from a staunchly hot bath,

As even now there's a bulbous, semi sentient orange passing as a human man shouting horrific abuses and lies against a group of people I hold closest to my heart.

I'm not sure this is the 2025 that many pictured. Even in their wildest and most twisted nightmares.

Granted, I am oceans away,

Granted, I am lucky to pass as the gender I was assigned at birth,

Granted, its not on my doorstep.

But how long can one stay silent as their peers slowly wilt, fade and without word, disappear from the world, in front of our eyes.

How long can one pretend it won't be you next, yes, you pass as a woman, but what about when being a woman won't be enough.

There is very likely even a time where my being white might not even be enough, being Irish.

When should I start stitching shamrocks.

My own father grew up with abhorrent racism immigrating to this country in his childhood.

In my lifetime I've seen thorns of hate protruding from almost every marginalised community.

I cannot stay silent in this.

I will not.

I have the gift of articulation, I just have yet to aquire the gifts of a working knowledge on how these system work, and who champions them.

My eyes look to my own country, my own government, the country that has looked to the US with puppy eyes for far too long.

We are safe, for now, we don't currently have a system that allows for such stringent changes to the workings of the country.

This isn't just about trans and non binary, it's definitely not just about trade wars and stances on current genocides and conflicts, its not just about immigration and I.C.E,

And it was never going to be about fucking eggs.

I am choosing my moment,

And though I had hoped to come to grips with things a lot more before I made any sort of statement on it.

I'm choosing for it to be now.

Whatever closet it is that I'm in let's consider the doors blown the fuck off.

I was born a woman, though I never ever felt like it.

Even now, thirty years later, I still stand by my waking up every day, and choose to present as a woman.

But I never felt like one. As a child, I thought it'd change when I hit puberty, so I didn't let it bother me too much,

But when puberty started happening when I was about 10,

It didn't help, I still felt like I had to 'put on' being a woman.

My late teens and early twenties was spent perfecting the woman I wanted to be, I studied makeup, hairstyling, photography. How to walk how to smile, how to laugh, and be a lady.

I found Dita Von Teese, the icon of femininity in the 21st century.

I wanted to be her.

But here and there a dysmorphia was growing, only small moments but the more they happened, the worse things became.

Not in my being a woman.

But,

In my not being a man.

It's still a lot for me to say, and like I've said,

I wanted to be able to process this more, but fuck it, this is real, and this is now.

At this point in time, I identify as non binary, and I've had nothing but great joy in being able to not only vocalise, but express that.

My gender is not, as this point, a trans man, but I am certainly on the more fluid side of things, and being able to embrace the more masc days are a fearful but fulfilling feat.

That being said, how can I shout my joy at my own journey when all others are being cursed and called wretched.

I come out today, to stand with the Queer community.

You'll have to get through me too.

Even the bath did not satisfy, it was one of those baths where it is continually cold, so you keep topping it up with warm water to enjoy it for the brief moments it's warm enough.

If that doesn't reflect how life feels at the moment I don't know another analogy to draw.

Life is cold, harsh and disappointing at present. But one has to keep forcing the warmth back in even if it is only for the briefest moments of enjoyment.

I have not the answers, I haven't even the questions.

I do have a fully weaponised arsenal of words.

And I shall certainly use them.

I have always been fearful of being misconstrued, misinterpreted, or misunderstood.

Perhaps that's the autism.

(Hey look, another neurodivergent that knows not to "roman salute")

But I would rather say my piece, and have the words said,

Than forever hold my words close and revise them privately.

I am stepping forwards and up.

I am stepping up on a shakey leg, into an air of blistering uncertainty.

But by God more people of sense must speak, must act.

We've let this puppet show go on long enough.

But you will not come after my friends, my family, or those suffering under systems designed to snuff them, and those who are fearing for their lives.

I have had it with ancient white men shaking sweaty dirty hands with each other over the cries of human suffering.

This cannot be allowed to go on.