I stood at the entrance of a high school the width of two football fields anticipating the coming agony of the school year,
Waiting for the moment when "I told you so" could leave my mouth once verbal abuses became a daily commodity launched in my direction
My mother was optimistic.
Ironically two years later she removed me.
Two long sufferable years of walking down the crowded school halls.
It took me two years to unlearn how I had been taught to treat my body.
In first grade the idea of the prince and princess had been cemented into my brain,
I was lucky to have been part of the generation that grew up with Tiana.
In second grade social cliques formed,
and it was an unspoken agreement that being friends with the bookworm girl that liked Justice League and Power Rangers more than My Little Pony was social suicide.
I was marked as a tomboy.
In fourth grade I punched a boy and was labeled as insane
because no woman of pure heart could ever hold the means for violence in her hands.
In sixth grade the social expectation was for young women to become more developed,
wear mascara, and tight dresses that made the lungs scream for mercy.
They teach you so many micro lessons
The poison builds over time as they say things like,
Boys can't control themselves.
Don't try so hard,
You're trying to little.
Show some skin, look sexy.
You're showing too much,
You're asking for it if you dress like that,
You can't let yourself go,
Boys like girls who are pretty,
Boys like girls who are skinny,
Boys like girls who are quiet but funny,
Boys like girls who will like everything that they like,
Boys like girls with a big chest and thick thighs with a flat stomach and nice trunk.
It took me Two years to unlearn these lessons.
In those two year I finally learned how to live as a Transgender person.
But gender was the only reason I escaped.
Maybe instead of perpetuating a rape culture that writes up a checklist of what defines a women, we should let young girls find themselves and teach young boys to keep it in their pants.
In middle school I was groped between my legs by a boy in my class, and he blamed it on me.
For weeks afterwards people said we would make a nice couple because I openly expressed my disgust towards him.
I was degraded with a body I didn't want.
Women shouldn't grow up learning how to become porcelain objects wound up on a music box singing "No" to the rhythm of a Man's touch.
Despite what the world should have been, it still took me two years to detoxify my body and mind of this culture.
Two months later I had my chest groped by a different boy, to which his response at my anger was "Sorry, I thought you weren't a girl."
I punched him in the mouth and spent the rest of the school day in the office.
I didn't regret a thing as I stood at the entrance of high school the width of two football fields anticipating the freedom of knowing how to wield my body like a weapon,
relishing the thought of the coming years when stories of these halls would pass through my lips like serendipity wrapped in caramel and fondness
as I walked away for the last time.