BUTCH (Repost)

It is a fact that the guys in my class would invite me to all kinds of butch outdoor activities, and I would turn THEM DOWN!

What the fuck is wrong with me?

I always said, “No. I ain’t doing that.”

Oh yeah, the guys in my class were actually (mostly) decent wannabe gentlemen.

The popular guys never made me a target, really, maybe because it would’ve been too easy. I was usually the poorest.

I was thinking about that the other day. I was moaning about never being included, and it occurred to me that I did get the invite. I just pretended I didn’t see it. I just assumed it would be the same as at school, and the only boys I liked hanging out with were Harley, Veston and Justin. Justin, I had a very innocent crush on that I was never conscious of. Veston, was the first real friend I had who wasn’t my blood. I wanted to be Harley’s Brother. We already have brothers. I envied His family life. 

When you’re a gay man, people often assume you aren’t interested in straight male companionship, but that’s my baseline. That’s how I was raised.

******

On the other hand, I was working hard labor once, and I wasn’t watching close enough; I came around a corner, and the others were all standing in a windowless room waiting on me.

I ducked out, fighting not to cry.

They were going to hurt me until I stopped being gay, was what they were going to do. Or attempt at any rate. I’m sure there would have been plenty of deniable sexual torture. No, you got the wrong one. I’m not passing the threshold, and you can’t make me.

I wanted them dead for that nonsense.

Shit like that is why weapons are sometimes necessary.

No, if I’d had a knife on me, I know I’d have seriously injured at least one. He taught me to carry a knife non-ironically. I was never a stabber but a slicer. When I’m furious, especially, I don’t want you dead. No, I want to hurt you. I want to hurt you, and I don’t care about a reaction. You can sit there like the dead-weight so long as I can get at you. I don’t care. It makes no difference. 

Why DID YOU THINK I WAS GOOD IN BIOLOGY? Hello! Do you know how many times we were injured in the Ether?

Blood doesn’t scare me it gets me started.

I believe in being a good person, like a dumbass.

I am also one of the most Ruthless people I know to the point where it occasionally frightens me.

And I know Him.

My Father would stop after beating you.

I will never stop.

Then, I start feeling like He’s a Better Person.

That’s where I go.

I’m happy I live a life where that crazy-ass thinking isn’t necessary, but I can’t get rid of it.

Fortunately or unfortunately, it is Standard.

I know I’m a Monster who deserves to die shrieking.

Who are you?

I am also honest, and I am brave.

(He is so irritated right now, you can hear it, right? So de-fensive.)

******

I get it.

To survive where I grew up, My Dad had to make me a beast. There was no other option. The unfortunate truth is that it was so contradictory to my true nature that to be that Monster, I had to become something different mentally. It had to be done. It saved me from harm so many times. I have scars, but I am alive. I would not be alive if he did not teach me how to set it off. I know how to switch gears. I can make myself do things. Everyone should have access to that part of themselves.

I feel like I’m ignorant when most people I see are entirely human. “A beast with a heart of gold.” Someone said that once and I said, “yep.” That’s me. He’s good with people.

Now that I can be myself more or less safely, that other is still there.

It’s all me. I just prefer the logical me.

Are you aware of melee weapons constantly? In every room you go in? Girl, I know. You get it.

He is always angry about something. And now that I’m becoming strong like I should have been all along, he is mad I’m not a vigilante, but you can’t make a cute outfit out of them Hefty bags, now. Yes, I mean money.

*******

It’s not like I didn’t consider it. I had an older friend who was going to TRAIN me (legit proper style), and he backed off when he realized how serious I was. I was 16. Oh my God, Chanzy-WHO THE FUCK ARE YOU? He wanted to be Bruce Wayne without the passive income. Good lord. He told me I needed to enlist, and I wanted to freaking enlist, but senior year (2005), they were going real hard on gays in the military, and I will not be kicked out because I’m queer. Because I fucked up? Entirely, you got me. Because my sex doesn’t end in children? You are out of your mind. By the time it came to make the decision, I had decided I was done hiding. ♫You coulda had a bad Bitch!♫ You know you love me. That mess was a tragedy. I am the one who missed out—moving on. And I said 2012, not 2005. 2012. Yes, I did. Yes, I did!

That just came back.

Oh, that one was rough.

Oh, I’m gonna puke.

******

I should have goaded the guys into attacking me that day in the locker room. I should’ve gone the other way with it.

More than sex, what I really wanted was to lay out a room full of assholes.

******

SideRant

On Rivals

I don’t have enemies(that I hate anyway), but even if my worst enemy showed up at my house begging for shelter because they were in danger, I wouldn’t let ANYONE through the door that meant to hurt them.

And! They would know that.

Because it’s what you do.

I don’t know why. You just do. And no, I DON’T expect anything but for them to get right the hell back out when it’s over.

Who wants a worthless rival? What are you declaring about yourself, with that?

You want to beat them, and not because of some circumstantial shit.

I know.

I KNOW

It’s fine.

We’re fine.

Published by Chanzy

No One from Nowhere

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