Boy Toy

A small yet brutal view on the patriarchy and feminism.

I’ve always hated myself.
One of the first things I was thought was that my body wasn’t mine. I was a toy for everyone but me. My skin made of plastic just made me feel trapped. I guess at that time I wouldn’t have put it like that. I would have told you I hated that I could not fly. That I could not climb high walls or swim down the falls. I would be mad at impossible things. Things like playing outside without some pervert showing me his dick or swimming in the pool without grown men trying to get close. With years these things became even more impossible, like going to class without male teachers harassing me. Or my personal favourite, going out in public without men screaming they want to rape me. My fantasy of becoming a real girl seemed to fade with every comment. If I were real I would really feel. Feel all the times they played with me. Every time I was picked up and tossed aside for the prettier doll. I would put on a mask with a painted smile that hid my tears. I would laugh and bat my lashes to compete with all the beautiful girls. In this world were I was nothing, had nothing, I wanted it all. Of course I never got anything only that which I “deserved”. I was their toy so they knew me better than I could ever know myself. And if they hated me, all of them, than I must have been awful. And if they still do, if they still want to play with this doll, than I must still be. So I will continue asking why I can’t fly like a fairy or be strong like wonder woman. I will continue asking for the impossible, because if I’m not human than I don’t have to live by their rules. If I were human than I would have had a voice. If I were human than I would have had a choice.
If I were human I would just hate boys.