Revolution by Berlin

You’re right.
It was my choice.
I am glad that you acknowledge that fact.
I thought you would understand better by knowing that it was but I guess you judged the choice without really thinking about the options I had. 

No, I am not a woman… thank you for pointing that out time and again.
Although I never really wished I were, I guess you were just always convinced I did.

I don’t think my facial features or my body built fool anyone… I am a man.
I will be the first to sucker punch the jackass who tells me otherwise.
And contrary to what you believe, I actually do love women, not just the way you do.

I love women so much that I can never use them as guinea pigs in my experiment of self-discovery.
Yes, life would be much easier if I can pretend that I feel things that I really don’t but I was never a good actor and I cannot have innocent bystanders as collateral damage in this personal battle.

I would rather get bruised and beaten… like a man.

In a world where people like me are judged before we open our mouths, where everybody acts as if they know us and what we’ve been through when they haven’t even heard our stories, where we are considered sinners regardless of how holy our actions are, where we can be beaten up and bullied and talked about and laughed at just because of their perception of who we are… I still chose to be who I am. It’s a constant struggle.
It’s a long and tiring battle that I fight alone.
I hope you appreciate the bravery in that.
What’s manlier than courage right?

I don’t believe a lot of men would survive what I have to go through on a daily basis but I do and I take pride on that.

I am a man. It was never a question of being one or the other.

Yes, my voice could be a little deeper and my walk could be a little butcher but what you see is not what makes me what I am.
It’s not how I act but how i feel that is the point of this very conversation.
I feel all the emotions you do… the only difference is who they are directed to.

You say it’s my choice and I agree.

I chose this.
I chose ME.

But I think you have a different understanding of how this was my choice.

I’ve felt this way for as long as I can remember. I didn’t just wake up one day and decided to deviate.
No. I am not rebelling.
This is not a political stand.
My choices are not fueled by agendas.
I am not starting a revolution.
I am not asking the mountains to move or the seas to part…
I just wanted to live…
And I want to live without you looking at me like I am on death row, like I’m your enemy, like I’m a stranger.

I want our home to be the place where I can heal my battle wounds…
Not the place where I lose most of my battles… where I get most of the scars.

I know I hurt you and I apologize.

I apologize for the awkward silence when we are alone in the same room.
I am sorry for the football game you had to watch alone.
For the pipes I couldn’t give you a hand in fixing.
For the stares and comments you had to ignore.
For the fatherhood advices you probably have to give to someone else’s son.
I’m sorry for disappointing you.

I’m so sorry for breaking your heart.

I am sorry for everything you had to go through because of my choices but I need to stop being sorry for being who I am.

I know you are scared of the idea of me going through life alone
But why are you letting me?
And why do you make me feel like I deserve it?
Why do you so strongly believe that no one can love me for who and what I am?
Why do you think no one will stay?
Why can’t you just be the first person to do so?
Love me.
Stay.

For a minute, please forget everything you’ve heard… disregard everything you’ve read or watched… and just look at me.
And see…

I am the same boy you made that wooden sword for.
I am the same boy who loved it.
I am the same boy who sat on your shoulders because the zoo was too big for his tiny feet.
I am the same boy you pretended to lose arm-wrestling to.
I am the same boy who cried each time you left.
I am the same boy who waited anxiously for your return.
I am the same boy who dreamed that he would grow up like his father.

Somewhere beneath this exterior that you look at with such pained expression is that boy… still waiting, with both hands in the air reaching for yours.
Missing the warmth of your embrace.
And hoping,
Praying you could finally see him again.
Begging for you to come home.

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