Frankenstein's Miracle

I am a little over a year into HRT, over a year into thrifting, over a year into having one place where I can buy shoes. But I've got a stash of about four outfits, a few skirts and tops to rotate, and I can manage to pull off a check-list of an outfit if not an actually effective, smooth appearance.

I am a big person. Ungainly. I think that when I go into girlMode, I am an times grotesque, which denotes artwork made of stones and local materials that might be found in a grotto.

I am Frankenstein's Monster, scaring the citizens, attracting stares, causing some to bless themselves and others to get defensive.

I don't expect to pass; I don't expect to be graceful or beautiful.

The miracle is that I am at all; that I can exist and be closer to myself; and that it feels so damn good to me. I'm not trying to impress anybody else; I'm trying to be me.

And that (to me) is the miracle of Frankenstein's Monster: that it breathes, moves, and functions at all.