to the two men who yelled: “that’s a man in a dress!
hey everyone that’s a man in a dress!”
while pointing at me on sixth avenue:

i wanted to turn around and point back,
 
“hey everyone that’s an insecure man,
that’s an insecure man!”
but then i realized how redundant it sounded

like describing a color as “blueish blue” or a fight as a “violent conflict.”

what is a man but a private repression made public made prophet made policy?

what is a man but a question mark so lonely it wrapped around itself so many times it began to resemble a body? 

i have spent the past 25 years trying to figure out where man begins and where man ends and what i have discovered is that man begins only where i end.

let me more explicit: man begins when i end.
or rather: man begins because i am ended.
which goes to say in order for man to exist i cannot.
which goes to say one day i got so confident in myself i was no longer a man.
which goes to say i have people come out to me as men every day by leaving me behind.

it is hard to have your abundance mistaken as absence.

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