STORY STARTER
'Secret Rebellion'
Write a story which could have this as the title.
Where’s My Mind?
After too many hours on YouTube shorts,
I came across a video saying how boys are simple like a straight line,
And girls are intricate like a curvy, squiggly line.
Now, there’s nothing straight about me,
Not even the guys I like.
(“Hello, universe, I’d like to make a complaint:
Why are gay guys hotter than straight guys???
Wtfffff????”)
But I’m pretty simple.
It doesn’t take much to make me smile.
I’m perpetually depressed.
Not sure how those two things got tangled…
Anyway, I’m not complicated.
The example the person in the video gave was “I’m fine.”
Apparently, when guys say that, they’re really fine
(Are they, though?)
And when girls say that…
Our thoughts and prayers figuring out what’s up with her.
When I say “I’m fine”
I’m not.
Never.
Ever.
If I’m actually okay,
I’ll say I’m good,
Or I’ll act surprised I’m somehow alright?
If I say I’m fine,
I’m definitely not, but it’s not a puzzle to figure out what’s wrong.
I’m probably breaking,
Probably shattering into a million pieces,
_Probably_ by my own hand.
And I don’t wanna tell you cause I care about you,
And I think of myself like a grenade that will hit you with shrapnel.
But the point is that it’s not complicated or anything.
So, like, what fucking category does that put me into?
Why do we even _have_ categories?
It’s so weird,
Just like the fact I can’t even watch YouTube shorts
Without my brain having a gender crisis over this shit.
But seriously, I hope someday we won’t get so hung up on gender.
It makes me sad I’ll never see that.
There’s a lot I’ll never see, and even more than makes me sad.
Like how there’s a decent chance I’ll never see my sister graduate.
Will _I_ even graduate?
Or will I just be another warning story,
Another statistic?
On the days when I cut instead of cry,
What finally gets me is thinking of everything I might miss.
I think of the letters I’d have to write.
I think of how people would be without me.
And I finally cry.
I cry my pathetic heart out,
Thinking of what it would mean for me to leave.
And I swear I never will,
I swear I’ll do better,
Try harder.
And then I bottle everything up,
Keeping it inside until it explodes,
Until it tears through my skin in red tears,
Until it catches in my throat with hurtful words,
Until it pours straight from my mind onto this app.
I try to hide it for as long as I can,
Because I’m a grenade, remember?
And people can’t be hurt by something they can’t see.
Right?
Of fucking course not.
But I never learn.