Manifesting a world inside-out that aligns with my gender nonconformity often coincides with the pleasure of being seen as a man because it momentarily affirms that the world is not categorizing me as a woman.

But it is still a categorization that doesn’t define who I am.

The euphoria of being perceived as a man comes guilt-laced from its association to a reinforcement of the gender binary.

Despite breaking away from gender within, the interactions outside consistently stitch me back into the tight fabric of gender that weaves all of us into constrictions.

Still, there is fun in the confusion of others not knowing how to perceive me (till my voice gives way and a hopeful Signor turns into its ‘feminine’ counterpart projected by the another.)