a draft of a piece for queer masculinity writing workshop
something I wrote for my queer masculinity writing class:
Can I get a Smile?
Somedays the whole world's a pot of gold, others are all scowls and dirty looks. Is it me, or them? Do they want a piece of me or do they think I bite their ass when they are not looking?
How can a 5'1'' boy-girl cute little creature appear threatening? Nevertheless. I will take the risk.
I like smiles, I look for them in the eyes of strangers. I know this collective pain. I have been in it myself, but more often I have been a witness. The days when I feel strong enough to walk tall and look right at you are the days I have a little bit of extra to give. Those are the days I am looking.
I like to see genuine smiles, open ones. Shiny. I like to see shy eyes too, appreciating my smile.
To see those walking arm-in-arm with their girl, covering her protectively, from one shoulder to the other, arm draped over, and I know she feels as warm and comfy as can be, makes me happy. I walk like that too. I take the road side of the sidewalk, I'll offer to carry her bag, I will put my hand on the small of her back when we cross the street, even though my girl is most often taller and stronger and butcher than I will ever be.
You know when you are happy, really happy, that you are walking down the street and maybe it is sunny or windy or even if the snow is falling, you can't help smiling, because she is next to you, and you are next to her and there is no place you'd rather be than right here? I love to see that. I walk by that, and the next thing I know, I feel wings growing out of my shoulderblades. I might have a bit of extra to give for the rest of the day, too.
Some people feel invisible. They feel crazy. If they exist, why doesn't anybody know that? They are often the people you see on streetcorners asking you for a cigarette, inside dingy donut shops pulling out pocketfuls of change for a cup of watery coffee or a day old creme-filled, they are standing and yelling and falling over themselves at street level as you leave the BART. They look in everybody's face. They are searching too. Most are too ashamed or scared to look back. Poverty and misery are guilt-inducing. Most would rather just walk by. If you look, you are hooked, if you look, you might have to do something about this. all this shit. all of this unfair bullshit. About all of THESE people being various shades of brown, gender-fucked, too old or too young, too fat or emaciated for SOCIETY's standards.
A smile could get you in trouble, it is subversive, it is a political act. It could also save somebody else's life. And isn't that worth it?
Can I get a Smile?
Somedays the whole world's a pot of gold, others are all scowls and dirty looks. Is it me, or them? Do they want a piece of me or do they think I bite their ass when they are not looking?
How can a 5'1'' boy-girl cute little creature appear threatening? Nevertheless. I will take the risk.
I like smiles, I look for them in the eyes of strangers. I know this collective pain. I have been in it myself, but more often I have been a witness. The days when I feel strong enough to walk tall and look right at you are the days I have a little bit of extra to give. Those are the days I am looking.
I like to see genuine smiles, open ones. Shiny. I like to see shy eyes too, appreciating my smile.
To see those walking arm-in-arm with their girl, covering her protectively, from one shoulder to the other, arm draped over, and I know she feels as warm and comfy as can be, makes me happy. I walk like that too. I take the road side of the sidewalk, I'll offer to carry her bag, I will put my hand on the small of her back when we cross the street, even though my girl is most often taller and stronger and butcher than I will ever be.
You know when you are happy, really happy, that you are walking down the street and maybe it is sunny or windy or even if the snow is falling, you can't help smiling, because she is next to you, and you are next to her and there is no place you'd rather be than right here? I love to see that. I walk by that, and the next thing I know, I feel wings growing out of my shoulderblades. I might have a bit of extra to give for the rest of the day, too.
Some people feel invisible. They feel crazy. If they exist, why doesn't anybody know that? They are often the people you see on streetcorners asking you for a cigarette, inside dingy donut shops pulling out pocketfuls of change for a cup of watery coffee or a day old creme-filled, they are standing and yelling and falling over themselves at street level as you leave the BART. They look in everybody's face. They are searching too. Most are too ashamed or scared to look back. Poverty and misery are guilt-inducing. Most would rather just walk by. If you look, you are hooked, if you look, you might have to do something about this. all this shit. all of this unfair bullshit. About all of THESE people being various shades of brown, gender-fucked, too old or too young, too fat or emaciated for SOCIETY's standards.
A smile could get you in trouble, it is subversive, it is a political act. It could also save somebody else's life. And isn't that worth it?