I don’t expect many people to understand or be able to empathize with what I am about to write.

But then, perhaps I should.

I have mentioned before that I am a two spirit. At least, I think I mentioned it, and I think that’s what I am. I’m still coming to terms with it.

Inside me lives a woman, but there is a man inside me, too. Sometimes we are both, sometimes we are none. Sometimes we are gay, sometimes we are not.

Lately we don’t feel very feminine and it is becoming apparent that we miss that about ourselves.

To me, a woman is magic and power and mystery. She is coquettish and wiley, and lush and full of brimming, simmering overflowing life, passion and romance. I know I have these things in me, but it seems that it has been a long, long while since I have allowed them out. This, to me, feels like a great loss.

Part of why the woman inside remains safely inside is because she feels unwelcome in the world. The world fears the feminine and that includes the part that resides in me. As such, it is hostile to women. Our sexuality is curtailed with laws and hate designed to shackle us to the consequence of indulging fully in our feminine. Difficulty to access birth control, endless tests, doctors, forms, people inquiring, people demanding, people pedanting, people shaming… all of it is designed to keep the feminine contained because the creative power of the truly female is truly frightening.

Part of why the woman inside doesn’t come out is because she needs a man to balance her. Yes, I need a man who is wholey masculine in order to bring out the entirety of my feminine. I am not ashamed to say this. I think it does not dimish who I am, my identity or my sexuality. In fact, I believe that male and female are indeed two pieces of a greater whole. Each on our own we are a complete manifestation of all that is male and all that is female, and yet together we are more than we are separately, in the way that shadows are deepened in the presence of the shining sun.

I revel in my middleness. I am privy to the inner workings of men in a way that even other men are not privy. The female in me creates for them a safety in which they chose to open, rest, and share. At the same time my female body enables me to move in the circles of women, mostly being accepted as a member of their society. And yet, the otherness in me seems to bypass the cattiness and the insecurity that can fester inside women’s societies. I am often privy to the inner thoughts of women because the male in me defuses their offenses. I love this about me. The hearts that are opened and shared with me are each of them precious gems and I treasure them all. I have this because I am both and because I am neither.

And yet, I am out of balance. Lately I am almost entirely male. My dress is male, my speach is male, my activities are male. I don’t giggle or flirt, and when I fuck, I’m just fucking. I miss feeling as if my feminine was opening and welcoming in another entity. I miss the opportunity to be supple and giving. I miss having someone want of me that I could give. And I miss dancing.

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