False Equivalency

She wants me to be like other girls. Mother puts me in lace and ribbon. She curls my hair, presents me in petticoats, tells me to sit still and be quiet. Her days are filled with gossip, tittering and comparing complexions.

Dressed in camo, a bow at my side, loud and dirty, exploring the creeks, trekking through forest—I am the “me” she hates.

“You’ll never get a husband looking like that!”

I’m accosted with a scrubbing, a soap whose fake scent mocks flowers I’ve just left outside.

“Why can’t you be NORMAL?”

Normal?

It’s not me who’s the monster.