Tell me in my slacks and button-down and tie, with no jacket because the shoulders are always too wide, the sleeves always too long.
Tell me in my jeans and extra-large t-shirts, in my tank tops and cargo shorts, with chipped nail polish and sneakers found in children’s sizes.
Tell me in my draped tops and puffed pants and jewelry, androgynous only in that no one of “either” gender would wear them.
Tell me I am androgynous in all of these.
Tell me that androgynous does not even begin to describe me.
Tell me that you look at me and do not see a tom-boy who will grow out of it, do not see a teenage boy in an ill-fitting suit, do not see a butch girl who neglects her appearance, do not see a flauntingly femme gay boy, do not even see a trans boy who hasn’t quite figured it out.
Tell me that I exceed your ideas of what it means to be male and female,
That I transcend the very concept of gender,
Grasping these ideas in my hands and yanking them apart, spilling their shimmering contents and splattering my body with their galaxies.
Tell me that you look at me and do not see gender.
Tell me that you look at me and see only the dazzling beauty of my incomprehensibility.
Tell me, because I need to hear it.
Tell me, because sometimes I cannot even tell myself.
This Piece was written by Linas Mitchell