I am a girl. Who feared men her entire life until she tasted one. Her fear turned to envy and became addicted to them and the sense of pride accompanied by their friendship. Pride was the key ingredient in her attempt to conquer. When she did it, conquered them all and wrapped them around her finger, how powerful she felt; how royal. The more there were the safer she became, though it was strenuous work to manage. For men must be tied in place, kept on a short leash, yet far enough to beg. Let them too close and they ruin your power, because once they touch you the leash breaks and loosens the others. I tethered them with wit, charm, and beauty. Never could she love freely and be safe, but careful calculations were made to ensure that the ratio of men she sacrificed kept her quota afloat. So work became her savior to secure her army of men. 

I lived this way for quite some time. So oblivious to my intentions or emotions. Often, I saw some girl attempt the same. Saw her join boyish activities and struggle to blend in. She’d fall and frown and unknowingly trap herself in last place, not understanding the rules of how masculinity work. Yet, she knew, as did I, that acceptance of these groups were at the top of the food chain. If you could make it with the hunters of the forest, the warriors in the amazons, the sailors of the seas, the knights across the moors, the tribe of bows and arrow, and the samurai of the east you would be accepted and safe forever. The golden dream, to be accepted by men, not as a lover or mother but as an equal. The dress code of course lies inside a male closet. Don’t let them see anything else other than that. Or it’s over, in the blink of an eye. 

She was failing fast, and I could tell her dress would reveal itself soon enough. I pitied her yet complained of her to my male counterparts. “Kill me before I ever become her. Become someone willing to hide themselves for the acceptance of others. So pathetically girly and weak.” I hated her. Hated her in a clandestine passion. Because I was her, only a few steps ahead, and at any moment I could fall to her same ranking. Being a boy means never losing, never failing, and most of all having a male character in place to entertain the crowds when you do inevitably fail. I smelled my fragility close at hand. How long before they smelled it too? Because I am not a boy. I am a girl.