Here I am, sitting, looking at the screen and wondering what to write; I don’t know exactly why I started a blog in 2021, but here we are. Francis is sitting on my desk, he is my mug, with the shape of Francis Drake’s skull, or so they told me in Santo Domingo where I bought it.
And this is the duo of whom you will read a text: a writing witch and the skull of a pirate. Congratulations! You officially have nothing better to do. However, I think it was the title that brought you here, right? And now you’d like to know why I’m saying I’m a boy and if I honestly believe that men are incapable of love?
The answer is no. And no.
Back in the day, I thought, that men couldn’t love, yes. The result of this was me breaking the hearts of good boys, legitimately believing that they had no feelings, that they were only interested in what was under my pants, and that that particular part of the body could have been mine or someone else’s. So, it was okay to be rude and end from nothing, isn’t it?
Fact is that in a society that validates mainly male characteristics, I, as a woman (who would like to be taken seriously by the quality of the intelectual content that comes out of your brain), ended up seeing myself a victim of the “inner feminicide”: the one in which you kill the Feminine within yourself to be taken seriously. Soon, I gave up and suffocated my female self to have my intelligence accepted.
I became a boy. And that’s how it all happened…
Ever since I was a child, my community whispers in my ears, relentlessly and wild.
Repeating in haste their sticky words that smell like waste.
Like the ghost of a wicked misconception, every night they haunted me to say a boy’s love is nothing more than a deception.
I disputed using Shakespeare, Byron, and Blake, and realized soon enough they’d try to make me aware of my mistake.
“Oh, yes!… except none of it is true. Young lady, pay attention. They’ll deceive you too. Don’t believe that a man’s feelings would last, neither today’s nor those from the past. They all think with the wrong head; the only thing they really want is to get you into their bed. Listen to our advice, Miss, for society is never wrong: Cheat before you get cheated, make your statement very strong. There’s no need to feed a pig with a pearl, save yourself, for, in this world, the only one who loves is the girl.”
It happens that, out of mere anxiety, I discovered myself, a near-boy, at an early age, to flee the tentacles for this vile society.
“Oh, yes I see? So this is how’s gonbe? If the boy is to be you, well that means you cannot love too.
Fundamentalism is a boomerang of steel. Be sure to throw it hard, so it comes back and makes you kneel. If you think you can think like a man, try to act like one: don’t cry. Don’t fall in love. Lie. Don’t ever feel emotions, and, above all things, deny.”
My society excluded me from the perfect life. I never mind, I had no intention of becoming a good wife.
If loving means a woman has to suffer, so may the gods allow me never to love; there’s no way I’m tasting this sewer’s supper!
And so the boys waited for me. But don’t they prefer to be free? I was fine with my choice, the marriages I had observed were a curse, wasn’t I better off alone than to sign up for life at its worst?
“Don’t run. We strangle you so you won’t cry! … Just, please, please good girl, don’t die.
Meet the expectations we have placed on you. Don’t be sentimental, cut off affection. To be a woman, who is a man, Miss, you must avoid connection.“
And so I let it go, no feelings alright, let it flow. In a relationship you won’t get that far, for all love does is to leave you a scar.
They said to let me be, but behind my back they went to the boys to tell’em what I lack.
Hold onto yourself in prayer, and forget the girl that’s smart, the one who stole your heart. Stay away from her! Her universe cannot be controlled; there is no good girl that’s gonna be that bold. If she takes pleasure in freedom, bet she cheats you. A free girl in the mind always wants something more, she with a brassy brain ain’t nothing but a whore”.
My society does not give in, exceeds itself and drains me in sin.
It tried to force me to everything: flawless, perfect, pure and clueless. And I refused to play along for my life is mine, and it should be my song. I decided they had no right to expect, when I looked closer at the sum of its hypocrisies, they ended up losing my respect.
Society insists, assaults, and insults me. Blind in its moralism, it loses its color and doesn’t progress.
It infames me, the boy she loves; for the crushing of the soul cannot stop until it hurts:
We don’t want to help, we want to judge your way.
Fundamentalism is a boomerang, Miss, and we don’t know how to play.