Mackenzie Pitcock
It is there in every picture and every window and every mirror, looming over me like a ghost—out of sight but not out of mind. Sometimes, it is in the distance calling out for me ever so softly, these are the times I cherish. Other times it is screaming in my ear, too cute, too lithe, too submissive, too aggressive, too feminine, too boyish too queer, not queer enough. It screams and screams and screams. So I change. I change my clothes, my hair color, anything I can to get the ghost to stop, but it always comes back. Maybe it’s time to stop changing.
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April 2018
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