i want to grow a beard. i want lush, curly hair growing on my
cheeks and my chin, which i’d stroke when deep in thought,
which would be all the time. this is not to say i wish to be
a man. i would like to be a feminine lady with a dark-colored
beard, long eyelashes, and curls at my forehead. annie jones
was born in 1860 and by the time she was five she had sideburns
and a mustache. annie, tell me, did your husband love to stroke
your beard as he stroked your long brown hair at the same time?
did he pull you by the beard when you were being difficult, or
give you oils to massage into your cheeks and chin? did you sing
in the bath as you lathered, did you feel bad when people came
to point and stare? your beard lay nestled between your breasts
as you slept, and i am jealous as i look at your picture, your
heavy lidded eyes and all that dark hair flowing from your face,
and when they buried you they threaded gold in the soft locks,
queen of the circus, king of them all.