Sacred and Saint

I’d be lying if I said I didn’t want girlfriends. I’ve always been a girls’ girl. Even when they were cruel and mean, I still expected everything from them. I’ve always wanted the best for my gender, and I projected every single one of my insecurities onto them.I only have one friend, maybe two. It’s definitely not what I imagined friendship would be. They never choose me, they never reach me out and I’m never the one they call when they’re sad. Maybe it’s because I seem tough and I don’t express my emotions in the shallowish ways most girls do.

I hate when girls act stupid or dumb on purpose. I hate every stereotypical trait assigned to us, and I hate seeing witty, talented women living in the shadows, reproducing those same stereotypes without even realizing it. I hate their boyfriends, I hate that they hate me and I hate how much I care.I care about stuffs most people find irrelevant. I tend to think people are stupid — and yet, I still underestimate them. I don’t think girls are stupid. I just think every aspect of our surroundings is.

I can tell some girls see me as a role model, but when it comes to women, I know they find me annoying. Whenever they’re around me, I can feel that they expect something from me – like there is something I must provide.

When I was a kid, I used to throw pajama parties for the girls in my class. Loads of food. Tons of fun. My mom would help. She’d spend her afternoon baking pastries and decorating the house for the same girls who would ignore me the next day and call me fat and ugly.

As a teen, I dated hot guys — most of them older, considered cool. Girls would come after me, pretending to be my friends just to get close to them. Some would try to comfort them with their vaginas, some would just stop talking to me after the breakup. Every time I dare to say this out loud, I can’t help telling myself how crazy it sounds. But it’s happened to me way too many times to be a coincidence.

I talk about womanhood like it’s divine. I’m in love with femininity, and I can’t stand that femininity isn’t in love with me. There are some girls I want to be friends with—most of them are prettier, smarter, or even funnier. I don’t mind being the ugly or not-so-pretty friend. I actually enjoy taking pride in my friends. I admire these girls from the shadows, just like I did with Nicole.

She was never my friend; she just went out for a brief period of time with the boy I had my first crush on. He was obsessed with her—and so was I. She was outrageous and a total mystery to me—to both of us. She was half-Colombian and half-American, from North Carolina but living in Miami. Her Spanish accent was sweet and fluent, but I definitely preferred her English. It was thick, full of strength, and it suited her better. She smoked cigarettes at the age of thirteen and completely changed my mind about braces. I now think they’re cool and might even look good on certain people—just like they did on Nicole. I think about her quite often. She lives in my mind, rent-free. I actually think about her more than I ever think about the reason we met.