You know what fascinates me about boys? Their anger. Boys are allowed to be angry. Boys are allowed to fight with their fists, muscles straining against the moral resistance to stop even though they won’t until it’s all out. Boys are allowed to drink or use or take or ******** to forget their pain, when all that pain is anger. Boys can be so, so angry.
When I read about boys, when I listen to boys, when I watch boys, I’m reminded of their anger. It can be fleeting – just a flicker of allusion that passes over their faces or clenches in their fists – or it can go on for minutes, hours, days. Even years; even when those years don’t seem to be steeped in anger at all, it’s always there, simmering low just beneath the surface.
At the most unrealistic times, I wonder where that anger comes from. I wonder why it’s so universal, so intuitive, even for boys who are not boys. It’s like the p***s is made of anger or something, and it’s never really lost that ingrained emotion. After all, if the p***s were made of love, wouldn't rape be nonexistent?
Their anger seems so integral to their gender, their role, their sex, that it makes me wonder why I’m not a boy when I’m angry. What if we all just turned into boys when we’re angry?
- Title: A Gendered Observation
- Artist: LilyLuff
- Description: What is it with gender? What is it with anger? Why are things so rigidly labeled? This is not meant to be an over-generalized rant, so if you're able to analyze it, I hope you will see more. (Also, includes potentially sensitive topics, so please be advised.)
- Date: 11/18/2017
- Tags: gendered observation
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