Because I Am Not A Girl

I once saw a rather accurate feminist post story a boy who was raised to be formed into a masculine woman abuser.  How people behave with eachother is based off of their experiences.  People behave the way they expect others to want them to. This post attempts to copy the one I saw months ago, and I’d link it if I knew how to find it.


My parents told me they wanted a girl, and that’s why they had to have another child.  Go play outside.  Go read your books.  Go play your video games.

It doesn’t matter what my body looks like.  It doesn’t matter what any boy looks like.  Boys can’t be pretty.  Boys can’t be beautiful.  I wish I was a girl.

I’ll play my video games to pass the time.  The people I’ve never met seem to like me.  They tell me they enjoy me being around.  They like me.

My father is too busy at work.  My mother doesn’t want to talk to me.  She wishes I was a girl.

I see people on TV who have friends. It must be fiction.  My parents don’t have friends.  I don’t have friends.  I don’t even know what having a friend means.

I threaten to run away.  Mother laughs at me.  She tells me that nobody wants me. I don’t want to live.

I work hard to make people want me.  Top of the class, top in the sport.  Everyone says I did not do good enough.  Not perfect enough.  Not enough friends, not enough activities.  Not the best enough.

If I was a girl it would not matter.  I could have friends if I was a girl.  But I am a boy.

Emotions are not for boys.  Perfection means that as a boy I don’t feel emotion.  I can’t do it by myself, but I want to be perfect so I have to find a way.  I found out how.  The knife helped me.

Not good enough.  Not perfect enough.  To perfect to be good enough.  I don’t know how to be good enough.  I don’t know how to be perfect enough.  The blood drips to the floor.

I am good enough because I am better than everyone else.

I am worth you because I would give you more than anyone else would.

You don’t ask for more, instead you just say I am still not good enough.

You say I need more time but you will not wait.

It is not your problem so you are not at fault.

I make worse mistakes than you do.

I push you away, I don’t know how to be around you.

I become better because going backwards means giving up.  Giving up means death.

Almost everything that you give me can be replaced by a knife.  Almost everything.