w
literature

what wasn't said

quentinwrites's avatar
By quentinwrites   |   Watch
2 0 2K (1 Today)
Published: July 30, 2015
Nobody ever said, of me,
"and those eyelashes - wasted on a boy!"
but they were.

One Christmas morning I awoke
excited for a bright red bicycle
my first, red for strength and fire;

but it was pink.

The little boy I was knew pink wasn't for me
(though the man I became adores it)
and disappointment seared through me
interwoven with the guilt of the audacity
of feeling disappointment.

Of course, my parents hadn't known
I desperately wanted a red bike.
They saw their daughter and thought
she was beautiful and pink suited her.

Nobody ever said, of me,
"What a bonny wee lad! So handsome, so strong!"
but I was.

When I was ten I was so desperate
to fit in with the other boys
that I joined the school football team.

but I hated football.

I tried with every fibre of my small being
to play, and to play well, like the others.
But sport of any kind was not my forte,
perhaps an omen of the broken body
my adult self was to find himself inhabiting.

Of course, I was never one of the boys
I was the tomboy. Worse. The wannabe-tomboy,
a little girl who cut her hair short
but couldn't even kick a ball across a field.

Nobody ever said, of me,
"He'll grow up to be a good man one day."
But I did.

Seventeen years later I found the courage to stop
trying to be the best girl a guy can be
I discarded her, the itchy suit I'd sweated through.

but she follows me.

She is a weight ever-attached to my ankle
taunting me with well-meaning but false pronouns
and pricking me thousands of times a day
with every 'love' and 'darling' from a stranger
with every 'I'm sorry! I thought you was a geezer!'

Of course, they aren't to know, and
of course, it won't always be like this, and
I need to grow a thicker skin, really.
The perceptions of others shouldn't define me.

Nobody ever said, of me,
"Congratulations! You have a beautiful baby boy!"
but they did.
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reminders i carry in my hand:
dear me, you do not have a terrible heart. you do not have sad eyes and love is not a war you need to win. sometimes i feel like disappearing, but remember: we are never really alone. dear me, every now and then, you can close your eyes and still find your way. remember to breathe because you did not sink a paper boat and you are not floating underwater. you already know the answer to the question you are looking for. dear me, remember the small things, like the writing in the borders of pages. see the things that everyone else misses. listen to your thoughts and then lose yourself. dear me, laugh until it makes you cry. see
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Dream On
A dream can be a passing thought; a passionate ambition. A dream can be a battle fought; a superficial mission. A dream can be a driving force; a forgiving comfort. A dream can be a thriving source; a deceitful consort. A dream can thrill you; drive you or kill you. Beware of this, dreamers— and Dream On.
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c
compulsive liar.
once i asked you your favourite colour, and you said, "the brown of your eyes," so i put in one green contact and told everyone that i came out of the womb as a factory defect, half-priced, damaged goods. - sometimes i am from canada and sometimes i am from england and sometimes i am from spain. i've carefully tempered my accents and plotted out my stories with yellow and purple coloured pencils on index cards. my origin changes like the seasons. "why do you lie to everyone?" you ask. "why not?" i reply. - i wear nametags that read "alicia" and "liana" and "samantha," because i want to know how it feels to be someon
r
reminders i carry in my hand:
dear me, you do not have a terrible heart. you do not have sad eyes and love is not a war you need to win. sometimes i feel like disappearing, but remember: we are never really alone. dear me, every now and then, you can close your eyes and still find your way. remember to breathe because you did not sink a paper boat and you are not floating underwater. you already know the answer to the question you are looking for. dear me, remember the small things, like the writing in the borders of pages. see the things that everyone else misses. listen to your thoughts and then lose yourself. dear me, laugh until it makes you cry. see
D
Dream On
A dream can be a passing thought; a passionate ambition. A dream can be a battle fought; a superficial mission. A dream can be a driving force; a forgiving comfort. A dream can be a thriving source; a deceitful consort. A dream can thrill you; drive you or kill you. Beware of this, dreamers— and Dream On.
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