by Alana Levitch
I come from having a sister 18 months younger than me,
being pushed in a swing in Seneca Park wearing my mom’s necklace,
climbing trees and drawing with washable markers.
From getting my tonsils removed and craving orange juice,
calling myself a tomboy in lower school,
being scared of the man in the horse costume at Churchill Downs.
From participating in a contest to win the toy car but being handed the barbie because I’m female,
changing in the corner of the locker room because I was so uncomfortable with my body,
being homeschooled by my mom in Miami,
shopping in the boys’ section at target instead of the girl’s and getting made fun of.
I come from always wanting to be the banker when we played Monopoly,
writing “I wish I was a boy” in the middle of the night,
loving to run fast but hating running for long periods of time.
From giving a speech in a dark room about how I’ll never have grandfathers come in for grandparents day because they both died before I was born.
From listening to nothing but The Beatles, The Monkees, and Electric Light Orchestra with my dad in the car from my mom’s house to his,
and then his house back to my mom’s.
I come from pushing back male feelings in fear of being humiliated,
reading Edgar Allan Poe stories and poems,
going to therapy for self harm.
From changing with my friend in a dressing room at Holiday World and glancing behind my shoulder because I was curious.
From dating a boy for seven months just to fit in.
From doing more time consuming art projects, working several jobs, and playing shows with my band to keep my mind off the unhappiness of dating a boy.
From finally publicly telling everyone that I like girls,
being in an abusive relationship for six months,
having all my closest friends tell me to break up with my girlfriend.
From my aunt wanting to have lunch with me just to say “being gay isn’t a real thing,”
“girls don’t have short hair and wear pants instead of skirts and dresses,”
“I’m praying for you.”
I come from not crying at my grandmother’s funeral but waking up a month later in the middle of the night sobbing,
writing “I miss David Bowie” in a journal 58 times at 10:49 PM.
From playing more shows with a new band,
having even more jobs,
doing more time consuming art projects,
staying wide awake at night.
speed review 