Finding my fierce

Growing Up Transgender

lion

My heart is racing

My mouth is dry,

I bite my lip, I try not to cry

The pressure is sinking me,

My head will soon pop,

The criticism, the hate,

When will it stop

A headline, opinion, radio debate,

Another scare story, platform of hate

Day after day another attack

The mindless celebrity, the scientist quack

All spouting distortion, spitting out lies

They don’t know the facts, yet pretend to be wise

About surgery, hormones, desistance, trends

They couldn’t care less about my child and their friends

“There is a durable biological underpinning to gender identity”

This isn’t a choice

But I feel so alone

I can’t find my voice

I see how you stare on the playground each day

Eyeing the dress, judging the way

That I raise my family

It couldn’t happen to you

With your conforming children

You’d know what to do

If your child cried…

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A First Taste of the North (and then a second, third, etc)

Mr Kev's Stupid Adventures

It’s probably clear from the various contents of these pages that I have what you might call a healthy interest in food. Some might call it a gluttonous obsession, but let’s save the character assassination for another day. While scrolling down my Facebook feed a few months ago, there was a list of “Pages you might be interested in.” Typically, the majority of these were for mail order Russian brides, some god awful musicians that would make me feel quite ill and there, shining like a beacon on the right hand side, was Street food fest. It’s a new concept here in Portugal, but one which I expect will expand rapidly, if this first example is anything to go by. Of course, on any of the big bustling street corners of downtown Lisbon,you can find stalls selling churros or farturas, but this idea of a whole festival devoted to street…

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