By Angel C. Dye

 

what if i hadn’t been born a girl child?

all round-faced and brown-eyed,

soft-skinned and hair-bowed

what if i could have bypassed the divide between wearing skirts and chasing them,

placing too much value on my looks and giving girls complexes about theirs

what would it have been like getting a pat on the back just for being born with an anatomical advantage?

carrying nations under my slacks and the power to throne or dethrone queens by loving them or just hitting it from the back

no one questions a man’s strength

he is, after all, a man

he can basketball/football/track scholarship his way to corporate success, and our two degrees

will equal more pay for him even though i am the one holding down a career, a social life, and a family

his pain will be invalidated because of his masculinity. ‘men don’t get raped. they do the raping.’

mine somehow becomes my own fault. ‘well what were you wearing when…’

i was wearing shame because my body causes offense by virtue of existence

i was wearing confusion because my mind is ironically an afterthought in the grand scheme of me

i was wearing what-ifs and maybes because my mom once said she wanted a son…already had his name picked out

and deep down don’t all fathers want sons too?

i cannot be a lifelong apology. i was born a girl child by no divine doings of my own, and i am proud.

proud skin and bones and womb and heart and soul and mind

proud girl child

 

Image: TexasEagle

 

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