You look at your five year old self in the mirror. Rosy cheeks, light hair that goes down to your chin, bright blue eyes. You look at the dress your mother was making you wear. It was cute. But you didn't like it. You didn't like it on you.
You turn away from the mirror, and go downstairs.
Your birthday comes along, you're turning six. You're excited about your birthday party. A pool party, to be exact. You have a good time with all your friends, then it's time for presents. You have a bright smile.
Your smile slowly fades with each gift. Barbies, my little pony, dress up dolls. You didn't ask for this stuff. Of course, you were still thankful, but you were a kid and you wanted what you asked for. Nerf guns, Pokemon cards, DBZ merchandise!
The party ends.
Fast forward a few years. You're ten now. You look in the mirror. Rosy cheeks, light brown hair that goes down to your chest, bright blue eyes. You look at the dress your mother was making you wear. It was cute. But you didn't like it. You didn't like it on you.
You turn away from the mirror, and go downstairs.
Your birthday comes along, you're turning eleven. You don't have parties anymore, you just invite a friend or two over. You're excited to see them. You have a bright smile. You frown as you see what they got you. Make up, nail polish, hair accessories. You thanked them, but you'd never wear this stuff.
Time passes and you notice differences when you look in the mirror. Your chest looks bigger. Your hips stick out more. Your face has more of a shape. You look at your body and cringe in disgust. You didn't know why, but something to you didn't look right.
A year passes. You're twelve. You look into the mirror. Rosy cheeks, brown hair down to your hips, bright blue eyes. You now have to wear a bra, people point out that you have hips that stick out far. You cramp and buckle over. This wasn't right. You didn't know why, but you knew this wasn't right. You weren't right.
The school year ends. You had been begging your mother to get your hair cut. You wanted it short; like a boys cut. She wouldn't allow that.
You're thirteen now. You look in the mirror. Rosy cheeks, brown hair down to your shoulders, bright blue eyes. You look at the dress your mother is making you wear. It was cute. But you didn't like it. You didn't like it on you.
You turn away from the mirror, and go downstairs.
Your mother stops you. "Go put on some makeup!" She says. "You look better with it."
You don't reply. You go back upstairs and into your room. You curl your lashes, and put on eyeliner and mascara. You thought you'd never wear makeup. But it was for your family.
A year passes. You're fourteen now. You look into the mirror. Rosy cheeks, darker brown hair down to your chin on one side, down to your ear on the other, bright blue eyes ringed with dark eyeliner and dark black eyelashes. You look at the dress your mother is making you wear. It was cute. But you didn't like it. It was low cut. You could see some of your chest. You wonder what you'd look like without one.
It's the end of the year. You cut your hair again. It's in a pixie cut now. You go to school wearing a t shirt and baggy jeans. No one likes it. You get insults all day at school. People make fun of you for trying to look like a boy. You go home and look into the mirror.
Rosy cheeks.
Short brown hair.
Dim blue blood shot eyes with dark circles underneath them.
You look at your body.
You bounded your breasts back on your own with bandages. It hurt.
Baggy jeans to hide your hips.
You felt right for once.
But no one else agreed.
You go into 9th grade. You're 15 now. You meet people who are like you. You should be happy.
You're not.
Time passes. You go home and look into the mirror.
Rosy cheeks.
Brown hair with a whole side shaved.
Filmed over blue eyes with dark circles underneath them.
Black mascara and tears streaming down your face.
You look at your body.
You got a binder to make yourself look flat. But you know they're there.
You wear boxers or briefs and stuff your underwear, but it doesn't seem real.
You still wear girl clothes and wear makeup. Clothes and makeup don't have a gender to you. But they do to others.
You look at the dress you chose yourself to wear. It was cute. But you didn't like it. You didn't like it on you.
You were only wearing it to hide how you actually feel. It was for your family.
Don't let them know about your actual appearance. "You're a girl," you say to yourself.
Next thing you know, the mirror in front of you is broken. There's glass in your hand.
"No," you say.
"I'm a boy."
