HELp he is a nightmare to draw, but very pretty glowy

it’s weird to live in a weird gender bubble where there really isn’t a name for it. Ask me to describe how it feels, i don’t know how.

It’s like a clash of bright blues, whites, purples, greens, other colors. It’s like a rainbow during a sunshower, or a forest blanketed with snow on a sunny day with no clouds. It’s the sound of a cats purr and the beat of a moth’s wings. It’s laid out in blacks and whites and wires and formal outfits. It’s suits and ties and leggings and sweatshirts. It’s converse and docs. It’s cat socks and fingerless gloves. It’s fairy lights and RGB keyboards. It’s piano music and harsh synth. It’s the sound of metals clashing together and the sound of rainboots stomping in puddles. It’s constellations and types of clouds. It’s the sound of mechanical beeping and the squeak of a tiny kitten. It’s the galaxy and the tiniest fish. It’s Saturn's rings and Jupiter's stripes. It’s Pokémon and mythical animal gods and robots and random male antagonists. It’s sakura flowers and evergreen trees. It’s stars and circles. It’s scented candles and bluetooth speakers. It’s mario galaxy music. It’s the way a cat looks at you when it trusts you. It’s old bulky computers. It’s my real name and my internet persona. It’s so much more.

It’s everything I love. Everything I care about. Everything that makes me happy.

and at the same time,

it’s nothing at all

people tell me it’s nonsensical, unrealistic, impossible. It’s one or the other, and if it’s outside the binary, it has to fit into a box. I have to be something. I have to make sense. I have to describe it in a way that still aligns with the gender binary. But i don’t understand why. Nothing in the universe is one or the other, things simply are. I may have listed things in pairs, but that doesn’t mean they’re isolated and cannot coexist with each other, or with all the other things I mentioned. I am okay with how other’s perceive me but they will never dictate what I am.

i am what makes me happy. i am what makes me feel safe. Just like everybody else, i am a pile of recycled stardust passed down for so very very long.

boxes do not make me happy, for i am no feline. i am human, and forgive me if that’s such a crime, because i’m not the best at knowing when i’ve done something wrong.