Being born a girl

Being born a girl, blessing or curse, who can say? It’s for us to find out as we make the best of it.

I was not good at it.
I was no princess; I had no porcelain skin, no noble slenderness.

My first carnival, I came as a grey, strong wolf. Wolves are beautiful, or so young me thought, but I was lost among the pink dresses of the princesses.
That’s how I knew:

The princess dress was never mine to wear.

Pink lips and blue eyes,

Girls became teens with make-up,
Holding boys’ hands.

I missed the time of the wolf, the time before I knew that they were better than me at being a pretty girl, a lovely doll for one to love.

With time I forgot, accepting my lonely fate: The girl who didn’t try to be pretty, for fear of failing.

SILLY!

Was I a lesser girl?

When womanhood came, my olive skin knew no make-up, my heart no-one. It suited me.
Love stories are for the pretty girls, not for me.
I was curious of their heels, their smiles and their soft voices.
I wished I could be like them.
I remained me.

I would have felt in disguise with colours painted on me,

like at the carnival.

I would have looked funny with a make-believe fragility,

like Sleeping Beauty, dead to the world and as real as fairy tales ever are.

They said my skin was flawed and my boots were not feminine.

They said: “We’re pretty.”
And I believed them.

I feared their complex social rules: The art of being pretty.
I was ugly to them. No one wanted of the non-girlie girl.
But I didn’t want to obey their rules.

I didn’t want soft,

I’d rather be as strong as boys.

Not a cute doll.

I didn’t want cute,

I’d rather be a smart geek

than follow their rules.

Was I a real girl?
I thought that I was broken, a social failure.

Until I met you.

You didn’t see the broken girl that everyone else saw. You saw a friend.
We laughed about nothing. We drank hot chocolate in the rain.
We always shared books and songs, ideals and ideas.

Then you took my hand.

You said you loved me.

Your eyes made me pretty,

your hands made me softer.

Being born a girl, blessing or curse, I don’t care as long as I’m yours.

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