Again!?!

I know it seems almost incomprehensible that I would be posting again. I guess I have hit a prolific patch no doubt triggered by my misery as seems to be the way why can I never write reams of prose and poetry when I am feeling stable that's what I want to know. I've had a lot of thinking towards the poetic in the last few weeks. I rarely carry a notebook with me these days as it tends to attract the attentions of drunks and homeless folk who are then compelled to sit and have conversations with me which I really don't mind but it does interrupt the flow of words I must confess. I have thought about putting them on this blog but my concern there is that my focus will be lost here as I do occasionally wander off the point at times I try and keep it at least roughly in the ball park so to speak so I suppose I may start another just for the more creative rambling it's nice to have that back.

So I was hanging out at a friends today and saw a documentary on sky called sex change, it followed the journey of a MTF having top surgery and a FTM learning to be more feminine and having electrolysis. It was an interesting show I could see that people were trying to handle the subject with some sensitivity but not really understanding the full depth of the subject. I guess a case of too much subject matter, not enough time. As always seeing the FTM having top surgery made me smile and then that familiar twang of jealousy in me as they try on a shirt and walk down the street for the first time, I can still hear myself quietly longing for it still afraid to say it out loud but wanting so much to be that person looking in that mirror at a flat male chest. I am so horribly afraid of it all going wrong I can't afford to go private and the NHS isn't known for the best care. I could of course be wrong I've never been to the gender clinic I don't know what it's like I know a bunch of people who have been and they seem to think it's a good place.

I feel that impatience in me that long standing everyday of my life longing to be a boy again. To wake up and find that these breasts, that belong to someone else, not me, have finally gone. That I am finally me, oh god, it is so tangible I can touch it, that want, that need. Run my fingers over it, feel it's smooth metallic tenseness, it's unyielding qualities, unrelenting, grown thick over the years. Buried deep in my flesh, hot with it's insistence. I don't want to give into it, I don't know why, I am afraid of it's intensity and afraid of what it will surely mean for my future life. What unsurities it will mean for my future life.