A boy threw himself onto the subway seat next to me, arms and legs sprawled out and invasive
His sharp elbows and knobby knees stabbed further into my side with every bump and turn He scowled when I uncrossed my legs, unfolded my arms, and sat how boys are taught: all big and loose limbed and taking up space I made sure my sharp little fingernails met the skin on the underside of his forearm
Girls everywhere are taught: be small, so boys can be big Girls must grow inward and shrink themselves to make room for boys to grow up and outward.
To not take up any more room than absolutely necessary To be soft and smooth and delicate
I asked 6 questions in AP Calculus today and each one started with the word “sorry.”
These habits have crawled under my skin Unintentionally taught to me by other women who ask forgiveness for simply opening their mouths As if just by existing, they owe the universe an apology
Girls are taught: be quiet and unnoticeable and so soft spoken, To trade our lip glosses for glue sticks So that when they whistle and growl from the window of a car We can only give a sweet, close-mouthed smile to the men who see us only as a convenient combination of curls and curves
And we must suppress the urge to cry out when their touch hurts:
When we are scratched by the sandpaper body hair that women would be shamed for having,
When greedy hands grip a little too hard and steal handfuls of skin without permission
Girls are taught: shhh, be delicate, be small, be soft So instead of howling like the wolves that we women are We keep our mouths muzzled in fear of having our opinion blamed, once again, on our PMS
And being given condescending little nicknames and a pat on the head
I refuse to suppress parts of me to fit into this man’s world: My body is my home, my voice my intrinsic right I am going to stretch out my angular limbs, I am going to scream and shriek and roar
and grow grow grow until the walls that are constantly trying to suffocate me are reduced to debris, crumbling beneath my feet
Once, a boy told me I’m too small to hurt him, that I fight like a girl
I smiled as I readjusted the sharp metal rings on my fingers, dragged my knuckles across his cheek, and replied,
“I know.”
Try to imagine a life without timekeeping. You probably can’t. You know the month, the year, the day of the week. There is a clock on your wall or the dashboard of your car. You have a schedule, a calendar, a time for dinner or a movie. Yet all around you, timekeeping is ignored. Birds are not late. A dog does not check its watch. Deer do not fret over passing birthdays. Man alone measures time. Man alone chimes the hour. And, because of this, man alone suffers a paralyzing fear that no other creature endures. A fear of time running out.
You never apologized to me for hurting me, but I apologized to you 12 times for being angry about it.
nearlyglitches:
pls raise ur kids to think it’s normal and ok to explore their gender identity
#