I look at him, and he’s not a prince. He’s minor a handsome savior. He’s just a man.
He’s just a man, and he’s not going to save me.
I must admit, I am disappointed. I spent most of my life wanting to be saved. Assuming I would be. If I performed femininity correctly ie if I was the right kind of girl.
I’m disappointed in myself, too. I’m never going to be able to save him either.
I would if I could. Haven’t I been trying? To render the threat I represent obsolete? …
When I was 20 years old, I killed my best friend.
She wasn’t my best friend. I didn’t know her that well. I think she had a crush on me. I told her my co-op was safe when it was not safe. She moved there to be nearer to me but I didn’t realize that until it was too late. She wanted to be my friend. She wanted me to save her.
I couldn’t save her.
She told me she was raped and I told her all the right things. I tried to tell her all the books to read…
I am saving him in a 19th century consumptive kind of way that has me looking up youtube videos of him shouting things years ago to crowds of people I wasn’t in and I wonder if he looked for me, in those crowds of endless people but I figure he had at least one blonde girl in his bed keeping him warm, and I wonder if he ever even missed me. I made a deal with the devil a very long time ago, the Jewish-looking Jewish women of my lifetime made a deal with the devil to murder ourselves so…
I get lost in what I didn’t do, what I didn’t say.
Like, hi, how are you, can I be your forever friend?
Girls learn early not to over-romanticize. Especially girls who look like me.
Class and beauty norms and then there I was, making poetry
out of every goddam word and
he was right. Nothing Happened.
(But I wanted it to.)
Nothing happened, except in the parentheses, the margins.
Nothing happened, and I only told everyone else I loved him.
I think he must have been horrified.
I think someone must have told him and he must have been…
I know how this is supposed to go.
I call the ambulance. The hunky ambulance drivers hop out. They shout exciting and dramatic-sounding phrases like “go go go!” and “this woman needs a doctor, STAT!” The ambulance flashes lights as the paramedics drive me to the hospital. I am swiftly diagnosed by doctors who look like they’ve just strolled off the set of Grey’s Anatomy. I go in for surgery before the commercial break, and when I wake up, my parents greet me with tears in their eyes.
What happened to me was somewhat different.
I went to the ER…
There will always be a skinny white girl whose parents love her, telling me that people will treat me better if I learn to love myself more.
The self-esteem revolution is about individual change replacing collective action. It is about the concept that if I only value myself, then rape, and poverty, and disability will no longer affect me.
It is, in a word, nonsense.
But it is very compelling nonsense. It is the idea that no one needs to fight for me, or even notice that I am in danger or being hurt. It is the idea that every…
Toxic masculinity says, everything that’s wrong with you comes down to the way you don’t control your emotions.
Toxic femininity says, everything that’s wrong with me comes down to the way I don’t control my body.
I hope I will find someone someday who loves me for the ways I love my body. Who will love me even when I eat or do not pluck my eyebrows or do not shave my legs or do not wear eyeliner or do yoga rather than go to the gym.
I loved him when he cried or laughed or was himself. …
I remember when I discovered music.
Okay, actually, I’m lying. Actually, I don’t remember that moment. I remember lots of ‘that moment.’ I remember sitting in the car trapped with my angry mother and my hostile sister but Raffi was singing about changing the world and I thought, that’s what I’m going to do. I’m going to grow up and change the world.
Then, when chauvinistic medieval chivalric culture poisoned my mind, that thought changed to, ‘I’m going to save this world, because I love this world. So much.’
Maybe this world does not need to be saved. …
I imagine it must be terrible to be a man.
I watched him but I didn’t know what I saw, back then. How scary it must be to think that if you are human, even for one second, the world will end.
Vulnerability brings people close, unless those people are other boys. He must have learned to be the bottom of the pile. He must have learned what the dirt tastes like down there. I know I’ve learned that.
We dealt in different ways, but they’re really not so different. For the longest time, I tried to smile and insist…
Maybe if you thought you were going to die, you would be writing love letters on Medium to a boy who has tried to forget you exist.
Maybe if you were sick, really sick, in this country that wishes sick people would have the decency to crawl off and die, you would have done what I did.
Maybe if you were told your whole life you are worthless, you would not believe in yourself the way I do not believe in myself.
Maybe if every person you encounter insists you have no right to be in this room this house this planet, you would be defensive and hostile, too.
Maybe if people who claimed to love you had tried to lock you up and insist you are crazy and convince you to destroy yourself for their pleasure. Maybe then when you loved someone, you would run.
Writes all the things. Photographs the light. Smiles at odd moments. Reads in the shower. Sings to the trees. Hopes a lot.