"Girl"

By Marina Twohig

Female. Written on her birth certificate, the first time the world touches her identity.
Takes away an opportunity.

Kindergarten, she casts out the color pink, dresses, skirts, because everybody made fun of her “girly” clothes.
Kindergarten, she's called a “tomboy” she doesn't like these clothes, 
they itch and they still make fun of her for it. 

Third Grade, she was told, “I'm surprised a girl could lift a chair that heavy.”
She doesn't understand why the teacher used that tone. 

Fifth Grade, and now she's top of her class, and yet it's still not good enough for people to stop saying “girl” like it's a bad thing.

Eighth Grade, middle school, now she is stared at like an object,
growing into herself, people tell her mother,
“You’re going to have to beat the boys away” 

Tenth grade and now she's going to her first party.
“Don't wear something that revealing, you know boys can't control themselves.”
Tenth Grade, and she listened to what they said so why did it still happen?

Twelfth Grade, teachers tell her to cover up her shoulders,
“That tank top is much too revealing.”
It was 90 degrees she was comfortable. 

Graduation, people whisper slut when she shows up in her dress;
she hasn't worn one since kindergarten. 

College, she's surprised she made it this far,
she doesn't want to have any other girls experience what she's gone through,
so she joins a rally for women's rights.
This time nobody says “girl.”
They say “woman” and no tone is detected.