"He's young now." I look into the mirror. "He'll grow on you."
"He's learning. Unwise in his few years, low in confidence."
I ponder..." Will he always be so...scrappy?"
Here stands a young man, looking in the mirror. Still baffled at the reflection he sees.
There goes a woman, his mother, still determined to have a youngest daughter.
People say "He's changing, look in the mirror...see for yourself."
What I see is a scared young man....
scared to live, scared to take up space, scared to make a sound in the noise of society's never ending chaos.
She's trying...she says. To understand. To support. To move on. She knows not her faults nor the effect her words have on you...she only knows that one day her daughter stopped wearing dresses, cut her hair, and left a life of pink and pageantry behind.
No, she doesn't know what she does, but she can see the light in your eyes began to dim when she calls you her little girl.
His father....slowly decaying, pushes the ideas of a son out of his mind. Refuses to see the beard and changing physique in front of him, clings desperately like a moth to a flame to his little girl who he swears never grew a day past the age of five.
Back when things were simple. Back when there wasn't so much **** change. Back when things mattered less about pronouns and more about peace of mind and reputation.
When I grow up, I want to be the change that I wish I saw in all of you. I want to embrace who I love with open arms, decide that I'd **** for the man I see in the mirror. Let all those who disapprove be ******.
Because if I couldn't protect the light in that little girls eyes so many years ago, I'll be **** sure that the man I become is one who will protect mine.
