It would be so easy to wear my emotions on my sleeves, to wear my pain on my skin and display my feeling publicly for all to see like a newly painted canvass in public museum.
When I would think of their hands roaming my body, their words of hate and cruelty piercing my soul and their fist cracking my bones, I’d love it if I could just break down, tremble with tears and erupted into sobs.
Exactly like a …like a girl.
Don’t get me wrong ladies; you’re not all like this. I’ve seen you too when you’re corned, when you want only what you deserve…Justice. So you blame me for what another man did to you , besides, what one man does amplifies what we all do, does it not?
According to your standards it does.
So if I cry and scream, will you think differently of me? Will you think for just a second, that I’m human too? Will you finally believe me when I say that I’m not the man that hit you, not the man that raped your or beat you, not the man that ruined your life? Will you believe that I’ve been raped, been beaten, and been disgraced too?
But would you take it into consideration that unlike you, I’m a weakling for telling? Society hardens me; society covers my mouth with its symbolic tape. I’m a man, I protect. I can’t be hurt, I can only hurt. I can’t be weak; I can only make other’s weak.
So I’ll lock my emotions away, I’ll cover my canvass with white paint. I’ll recoil from touch, adapt to the harsh and unspoken rules of this society. I’ll become angry when you suggest that I’m weak, when you suggest that something’s wrong with me.
And then I’ll think for just a second…if I’m exactly the same as the man who hurt you (according to your standards), then are you the same as the woman who hurt me? Are you the same woman who’s conditioning me to be a cold and heartless device, conditioning me to convert my sadness and fear into anger? Are you the woman who chooses to ignore my pain and suffering, blandly saying that I CANNOT BE ABUSED?
Like you believe I am the man who hurt you, I’ll believe you are the woman who continues to do so to me; who continues to hurt me without speaking to me, without looking at me, by simply ignoring me. Your effect has been long adopted by the harsh leaders of society, a society that sweeps my abuse under the rug only to have yours amplified on billboards.
Where’s my shelter when I have nowhere to go, where’s my hotline when I’m hiding in my room, hiding from my abusive spouse, where do I stay when the world is completely against me? I don’t know and frankly, I suppose according to you, I shouldn’t care.
So I’ll lock my pain away, become the monster that you fear.
I’ll be a man.