Magnolias Pt. 1

I originally wrote this in 2009.

I believe that it's appropriate to post now because of something I saw posted about me on Twitter.

I am bitter, becoming more and more callous, more and more masculine, while attempting to hold to on to my femininity. I’ve have become sir instead of ma’am because I look like my daddy and don’t possess a feminine voice. Deep inside, I wish that I was beautiful, but being who I am, it’s not possible, and the fact that possess a deep voice and my daddy’s face doesn’t help much. I want to dress like a girl, but I can’t afford it. Hell, have you seen the price of jeans in Lane Bryant? And to listen to other females say, well can’t you shop somewhere else?

No, the clothes don’t fit. Would you rather my behind be out too?

Well you could at least stop buying boy clothes, that’s why they think you are a man.

Well, boy clothes are cheaper, and what do you want me to wear a muumuu? Really? fuel the fire?

And contrary to those who are thinking well maybe you should just push yourself away from the table, believe it or not I’ve starved myself, tried sports, and darn near killed myself with the every pill imaginable, even though evidence before you looks to the contrary.

Up until I was twenty, I prayed every night that I would fit in, that I wouldn’t be this big, praying that the Lord would hear my cries and take pity on me, because I didn’t know what else to do.
Walking around, praying that nobody noticed the moving house that was traveling around to the places that they were. Even though both prayers were impossible, I continued them.

Lord, please, if you love one ounce of me, please let me be able to walk past people without them staring or hearing them go 'Damn, what they hell has she been eating, other people?'
And Lord, please, I don’t know what else to do, can you please just take some of this off me?

When that didn’t work, I resorted to trying to drown myself, and when that didn’t work, the day before my college graduation at 22, I sat with my stepfather’s pistol and contemplated suicide, almost pulled the trigger, but because we lived in a hotel, the housekeeper saved my life, and to this day, she still doesn’t know it.

I figured death was a simple alternative to the obvious stares and whispers and gawking.

Hell my life was tough enough without people judging me every second of the day.

Now, today, see I fancy myself like a magnolia—the seed that produces the flower that blooms isn’t the prettiest thing I’ve ever saw, in fact, it’s quite hideous. But what comes out of it is pure and represents the beauty of God—even though the shell is that great, but still it grows into a beautiful flower even though what it comes from doesn’t look like much.

Naw, I am not over all my hang ups, but darnit, since I can’t change anything, I will have fun with it.

When people call me sir, I won’t correct them, instead, I’ll sashay away from them and let them form their own thoughts,

When people point and whisper, I will hold my head high, and hope that they can see me walking, instead of trying to hide.

Who was I kidding tiptoeing around areas and trying to hide like no one would notice me? And since I am hard to miss, I’ll go out of my way and make sure people notice me so that they can bask in my glow, or when I recognize them from previous gawking encounters, stare and them and help them to understand how uncomfortable they made me, and them maybe, we can stop the discrimination of people’s lives….hell do you think I jumped up and decided one day that I wanted to be as big as I am?