Me

I was told that girls do not whistle. Nor do they climb trees or play with boys. According to some I read too much, some thought I read the wrong things. Why didn’t I like makeup? Why didn’t I gossip? Why wouldn’t I follow fashion? Why wouldn’t I like boys? People asked me a lot of questions, questions about how I came to be this way. I shrugged it off and told them I was weird, born this way, or else I sat there quietly pretending to laugh along. I shied away from the spotlight, and my recluse from the world, was writing. Even if I wrote only for myself. I weaved my stories of love and war, of desolation and of happiness. I dreamed fairytales, I wrote songs, and through them I lived a happy life.

After a long time of living with a few who understood me. I came to a place, magical in my mind. I met people who loved to read what I did, people who didn’t know a damn thing about fashion or makeup, people who never asked me why I was who I am. In fact they seemed to like me well enough. So I settle in for now, enjoying the people I meet. I’ll just wait for when you begin to ask me ‘why’ as well.