Am I doing this right? I- I thought that if I didn't tell any of what I felt that it was supposed to go away, I thought that was how it worked. So I guess I'll tell someone.
Oops. I told the wrong person, guess I'll have to live with being called mushy and feely. That's okay, it's better, right? I think so, except for the fact that Boys. Don't. Cry. Or I thought at least, I mean I thought a lot of things that weren't true. But I think I get it. Don't not feel, but don't feel too much so that you're weak. Don't feel too little or you'll go insane, feel too much and you're a faggot.
I don't want to be a faggot.
So I think I got it wrong, I'm back to feeling nothing again, except that I can't turn it back on again. I don't feel sad anymore, but I can't seem to be happy either. And since I felt too much before, I'm always a faggot they said. They said a lot of things, I don't always believe them.
But I believe them now. I believe them so hard that I can see it, see the pitch in my voice that gave it away. I'll just speak deeper from now on, then they'll never hear it squeak again. Oh, my walk. I guess I'll change that too. I guess I'll change the way I talk with my hands. I don't want to be a faggot.
But that's what they call me, I can't use the bathrooms anymore. I wait until I get home. I have to turn the other way when I see one of them, when I see one of the boys who feels everything yet no one tells him otherwise. Why can he do all the things that I do but they're not calling him a faggot.
Oh, I see. They all like him. They see his fair hair and his blue eyes and his pretty white smile and it makes sense to them. To me too. I hate the way he's so pretty, hate the way I envy him and the way the girls move around him. He's used to it, that feeling of them squirming. He's used to the teachers giving him just a little extra attention, even with mediocre grades. Maybe it's because I don't squirm. Maybe it's because I can see him years from now. When his hair is greyer and his eyes a duller gray than blue. When his smile is crooked and no longer so white. I think I can look into his eyes and see the future. It must be my power. But I think he can see this power, I think he's scared of it. It's mine and he can't have it. So he does what he can to get rid of it.
He calls me a faggot in fear that my power is greater than his.
