futoncam journals - Lindsey
The Boy You Never Wanted - 2/11/2003 10:40 PM
I'm the boy you've always known. I'm ten-years-old, I'm wearing nothing but overalls, and I'm pulling myself up the maple tree one limb at a time. I'm the boy you've always known- I'm not a victim and I'm not a lesbian and I'm not afraid of society. I catch fireflies like dreams out of the sky.
I'm the second-born, I'm the artist. I was the one that dove into the ocean when I could barely walk and I was the one that ran away from home. I am Jacob- I played my parents against each other and my arms are smooth and white and I looked into the mirror when I was fourteen and hated my breasts and my hips and my self. "Jacob have I loved." But my mother didn't fight for me. She must have known, she had to have known. I didn't want hips, I wanted broad shoulders and I wanted the Slavic girl in my gym class. That was
Jacob. Have I loved, since then? I fell into a pair of green eyes and I fell off a cliff and I fell into a city and I keep whipping myself like instant potatoes- white and flexible. I couldn't swallow those things when I was little, but now spuds are okay and so are my breasts and my ovaries. But sometimes I still feel like Jacob, even though the hand of God has passed.
Nothing's pure anymore, nothing's white and soft. My father finds no favor in me, and I'm not willing to trick him for a blessing. I have loved. And I loved them both, even while I was hating the girl they'd really wanted, I was loving the people who made her.
There's a tree right outside my window and I want to jump and catch a limb and swing myself into the snow. I miss playing, I miss hopping fences, and I miss nobody caring what I turn into. Jacob, I have loved you, my past- even though I always knew you were awkward. But childhood is like that and too late I understand; we were nothing but a little boy in overalls.