I am not a girl. I am a weird tangle of things. I do not really know where I fall in the world when it comes to self expression, and I would rather repress myself like a dog with a choking collar, feeling my breath get cut short and the oxygen fading from my mind so as not to think of anything at all.
From a young age, I knew there was something wrong with me. I knew I could never be held as if I were delicate or nurtured. Naturally, you do not really understand what it means to be a “girl” or to be a “boy.” I mean, is there really a “to be”? To me, these are just social constructs we as people create to further divide ourselves. A girl must do this while a boy must do that. I was not allowed to exist as a human being because everyone was too preoccupied with what assigned gender we should be molding ourselves into. I must be small. I must be pretty. I must be gentle. I must be seductive. I must be enchanting. I must be fit for you, a boy who does not know what that means to him, who does not know what it means to be a man, yet he is told that soon enough he will be, and he must find a girl, a sweet one, or else this talk would have all been for nothing. Sweet like the candy your mother gifted you and as soft as the sheets you lay on every night. That is what I am supposed to be.
But I am not soft. I am not sweet. I am not pretty or seductive, let alone enchanting. I have rough edges, and I can be cruel and mean. My ignorance is my bliss, and I will act as if I am not hearing you at all, but I have ingested every single word, swallowing it back deep like the loads you, as a man, will pour deep down my throat to satiate your “male” desires. The more and more I type about this, I cannot help but feel myself grow irritated. It is a redundant conversation topic, and no matter how you glance at it, you are left with the same unfulfilled consciousness. I am sick of the face that follows me no matter how hard I try to look away. The mirror mocks me when I attempt to stare into its eyes, so foul and unaware of the discomfort it is causing me. But still I smile, and without a moment’s hesitation it smiles back at me.
Are you a girl or a boy?
I am just the desires of the human heart, the understanding of all that is holy, and the mechanism of the machine. Nothing less. Only more, so, so, so much more.
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