Face

Readers of this blog probably know what I look like. You haven't known me, you don't know me. I am a ghost.

I have looked at my face for a long time, I mean, at least since I could perceive things for the first time some nearly four decades ago.

I believe my face is changing. I don't know what it is. I do not know if the threatened feminization as told by that diabetes doctor who said I had dangerously LOW T is happening.

What is about my face? That I wash it with Dove Sensitive? That I use Proactiv on my nose occasionally? I wear glasses because I am blind, on the scale of -5.25 diopters. Maybe I should have chosen better on my new glasses (I did ask for round lenses and was told my 'prescription makes that difficult). Really? What about those old people whose vision is way worse than mine? My lenses are made of high index Crizal lenses with alize anti-glare coating. This is polycarbonate plastic, easily molded into lots of things.

What do you think of my face. My lip scar, from a can hitting me in the mouth when I was taking down a canned vegetable display. That happened in my 21st year of life.

I mean, flesh is transient. My body will spend more time dead in the grand scheme of things, likely returning to the dust from which it came.

Do you think I am cute? Do you like my face? Do I seem masculine to you? I mean, I have a peena, I know I am a boy. Been that way since my 10th week of gestation, which was just about 39 years ago at this moment.

I said before, I will say it again, I do not like being male. I actually hate it but that is how it is and will always be.

My face...