i'm a girl, boy.

a long time ago, someone told me that i was a girl. my room was done in pink checkers, and i had cute stuffed bears and pretty porcelain dolls that cluttered my shelves. i had long red hair in pigtails or a cute pink headband. i wore skirts and stockings. i had matching outfits to go with all of my pretty little moods. my grandma taught me how to make clothes for all my barbie dolls, and i couldn't play transformers.

i spent my afternoons with my friend in treetops lining our street. we threw things at passers-by. they looked up to see whatever happened to be under my skirt.

all through my childhood, i hated the fucking color pink. my favorite color was green. i wanted a green room. i got holly fucking hobby. i played soccer with my brothers. i loved using matchbox cars as skateboards for my little ponies.

"they taught me different was wrong."

so i'm a damn feminist, right? power to the skirts?! screw that. i hate chicks.

i don't want to be treated the same because i'm a woman. i want to be treated differently because i'm me.

i've been called every name in the book from bitch to lover, and you know what? you don't see me complaining. i've met my share of people who think i'm less because i've got tits. i've met people who think i'm special because i could have a baby. i've met people who don't think of me at all. you know what? the last ones are my favorites.

it's not about feminism. i'm not down with being better. don't give me this "we can do it" bullshit. i know i can do it, my mom told me that a long time ago. i think if people were less inclined to telling little girls that "don't worry, you can be anything you want to be no matter what they say" ... those little girls might actually start thinking it on their own without the preconception that that have to try to be equal.

shit, men know their place just as women know their own. you think it's coincidence that we've got the responsibility of actually growing the child? you think we should feel bad because we can't lift eighty gazillion pounds? we all have our places. some chicks can't apply makeup, and some guys wince at the pain of a tattoo.

dammit. my boy does a gleaming set of dishes. guess who always gets handed the pickle jar to open?

it's not about roles anymore. i'm not about being a feminist, and i'm not that little girl. i grew out of her before they even finished chipping out the mold.

i was torn apart in the third grade because i was smarter than all the boys.

in second grade, my teacher slapped me for writing with my left hand ... possession by the devil, he said.

six years old, i learned the not everyone thinks bright red hair is normal.

hell, when my mom was pregnant, none of the doctors believed her. four different doctors she went to. well, i proved them wrong ... what makes you think i stopped there?