Wednesday, September 30, 2015

When Little Boys Die...and Little Girls aren't Born

She groaned:

"I don't want this girl"

I listened with every organ inside me
wrestling with my heart
yanking at my core
dragging me inward to
the whirlpool of noise that sounds a lot like horror and overwhelming heartache
amplifying the whimper
now decomposing into a scream

I inquire:
"Why not?"

It doesn't matter.
Not a word she vomits.
No reason is good enough to not want a child because of who she is.

She from Sheba - questioning the Solomons of the world
She from Shiva. Shakti - resonating strength of mind and body
She from shepherding, sheltering - her self, her body, her family, her community, her rights, her hopes

I resign:
"So you want a boy..."

A boy. 
Two more sets of misplaced hands to toil
to take control
to not learn how to hold
to never feel a plea
to not know how to join in agony and humility
to not wrinkle and embroider fingers in the embrace of another hand in a way that sings, "I'm making myself vulnerable to you right now"

A boy.
A machine with a scrotum and no heart
in charge of others
his wife, sisters, mother, children, community, home, job, employees, car, house, world
But he never learned how to take charge of himself
He never tasted the humility in an apology
or the grace in ownership of his choices

A boy. 
Shrouding his family in values
guiding them with his testicular flashlight
supporting them
to never learn how to stand on their own disempowered shaky legs
How could he?
He never learned to stand on his own

He stands on the expectations of thousands before him telling him to be a man
He turns on the radio to listen to Nicki Minaj reminding him that she's got the cooking and cleaning down - he's the boss, she be respecting
He peers between the shoulders of other giants who don't know how to cry because it's unmanly
He kicks the lap of those who comfort him because he's never learned to ask for help (forget directions)
He stares at a man in the mirror not knowing how to see a woman for more than a commodity to be consumed

It just happened. 
Another little boy just died.

So, my dear female acquaintance...
It's not like you don't want a girl -
You don't know how to raise one to not be you.

So, my dear female acquaintance...
It's not like you want a boy -
You want to raise someone who further invalidates your value as a woman.

So, my dear female acquaintance...
What you want is neither boy nor not-girl - 
It is the very same hellish concoction that keeps the world turning on the same oppressive axis that convinced you that you are Nicki Minaj's Mama and that you need a warped mannequin of a man to beat you into shape
It is the same hemlock that will kill boys who don't comply with your grueling matchbox of manliness and suffocate girls who bend femininity

So, my dear female acquaintance...
You don't deserve this girl. 

This girl deserves open waters in which to exercise every molecule of choice she has
She deserves to pick what and who she wants to be in the constellation that is gender
She deserves to wear what she wants 
She reserves the right to sleep with whom she wants or not when she doesn't want
She deserves to be treated as a human with her wholly and fully functional organs and body system
She is not an extension of Adam's ribs
She does not deserve you

And neither does your son.

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