Monday, November 24, 2008
You see that girl with the long blonde hair in the picture? She’s really pretty huh? Yea, she is, that’s me? Do you believe it? I don’t.
When you look at that picture you see a pretty girl with her pretty boyfriend, a happy all American couple. But look through the smile on her face; see the heart that beats within, she is not happy. She wonders why she has to wear that dress while he gets to where the suit and tie. She goes back to the days of her 5 year old self when she dreamed of playing like the boys, and being like the boys and even of being, a boy. She wants so hard to not be that girl that girl in the picture, long blonde hair, green eyes, boyfriend, crisp suit, toned muscles, blonde hair, blue eyes. They are the perfect couple, they are beautiful, and they are what everyone wants to be, except her.
She doesn’t want the long blonde hair, she wants short hair, but if she cuts it off they will know, she is afraid of them. They cannot know, she must be that little girl because god-forbid she tells them that she is no fucking little girl. She tries so hard to be happy, boyfriend after boyfriend, hairstyles come and go but nothing fits. People look at her and they see the girl in the picture but that is not who she is. She is that girl with the short hair who you have to do a double take to tell if she’s a boy or a girl. She’s the one who says that you only need to know what’s in her pants if she is letting you in them. She finally got the courage to chop off all her hair, but she is scared, they accepted her short hair and called her a butch, but they still asked when she was going to go back to that long blonde hair. She tries to tell them that long blonde hair is not her, it makes her look good but it makes her feel like someone has taken a knife and dug it through her skin and between her ribs and pierced it through her heart. But with strong hands he pulls it out of his skin and rebuilds his broken heart. He puts the pieces back together, and tells himself that one-day it will be ok. He wonders what to do now, he’s no body’s butch, and he wants to be that dyke with the tits but who is still packing in her pants. He wonders what it would be like to have the parts he wants, to reach down there and feel that thing that he yearns for. But at the same time she loves her life, she loves her self and the breasts that feel heavy on her chest, she loves them. And then, in and instant, she wants them to go, she wants to bind them away, pull them so tight that they absolve into nothingness. But tomorrow he will wear them out, in that tank top that slides down so low, and he will love them, his breasts. He doesn’t understand why these lines get drawn why he can’t be both, why he will one day have to explain to his cousins why he is so different.
He loved that girl with the long blonde hair, she loved herself back then and yet, she wanted to tear herself out of her life and cry and scream and hope that tomorrow she would wake up and be in a different body. She wants to wake up and have every thing be ok, but the problem is she doesn’t know what ok is anymore. She doesn’t know what is up and down, all she knows is that today is a day, and she has a life, and she will go on living this life, not knowing what tomorrow will bring or how he will feel, but tomorrow, like today, will just be, another day.