my mother didn't discourage my freedom. i was allowed to run bare chested and tie a blue towel around my neck for role plays of batman and robin. my grandfather often took me on fishing trips that the other grandchildren could not handle.

i was brazen earth, embodied, free,potent, confident- i was me.

then something horrible happpened. i had to put my shirt on at the age of eleven. death. by tweleve my grandmother gave me the talk of disempowerment about how i shouldn't even wear tank tops because grown men were looking at me. she pasted the viral notion of not being free. she wanted to protect me by making me afraid of what might be going on in the minds of men.

all the while the boys got to run free in the bossom of possability. instead i was shackled because i was developing a bossom. death.

i became so angry that i could not be me- that some how something had gone wrong and my creator had designed it to be so. cruel.

it wasn't that i wanted to be a boy. it wasn't that i wanted to be a girl. i just knew that whatever i truly was had been snubbed. i began hidding and it wasn't fair.