Ladybug

One of the only (if not the only) insect whose name implies a gender. These arthropods go through parthenogenesis, a reproduction within themselves, asexuality. Yet they are stuck with this name given to them from some scientists who decided that it was fitting. They dress in spot, some have rich red shells, others wear more muted shades of amber.

They had a bilateral mastectomy, because this is what they needed to feel like the purest, most honest representation of them self. They dress in pink fur and have painted lips and eyelids. They take pictures with cotton cloth. They proudly show their soft pink scars, their scars get flagged on Instagram for indecency because they still have long hair and eyelashes. They wear an antique opal engagement ring. They have photos captured of them by a stranger while they are visiting a diner in Baltimore. They carry a loom to the café. They are they, but others insist that this is impossible. Those who do not know try to force them to choose, trying so hard to confiscate the pieces of them that they are desperately trying to cling onto and represent. They are proud of who they are, but the same scientists who labeled the ladybug are trying so hard to tell them every reason they shouldn’t be. They wear their red ringlets on top of their head, they kiss their fiancé, they water their plants. They are still they, because they say so and others do not have the right to insist that they choose.