An open letter to my body:
When I wake up in the morning and look at you, I don’t see a trace of femininity. You are an objective home. You hold my bones, my muscles, my tendons, my ligaments, and my joints. You process my energy, you circulate my blood. You digest my food sometimes, you move sometimes, and you relax others. You have many functions and uses. Some guarded by my will, some not. Some I don’t think about and some I don’t know of. We are in tune with each other. I know when I’m getting sick, when I’ve pushed myself physically. You’ve sent me critical messages my whole life and I’ve listened closely. So very closely, yet you’ve never told me I was a woman. Never told me I was feminine or femme. You’ve always stayed objective, unconcerned with my having habits or the clothes that I wear. I’ll wear a dress, but I’m not feminine; I’ll leave hair on my legs but I’m not masculine. You’ve allowed all of this. You are my vessel and you’ve promised to work for me as long as I meet your simplest needs. I will label you as I please and you allow. I will celebrate you.
-Claude