Sappling

Back in preschool the boys would always tease me.
"You're a girl."
"You can't do anything."

Defiantly I would cry back, "Yes I can!" And they'd laugh at me.
The sad part?
They weren't the only ones.

In elementary school my teacher would always look at me in the same, tired fashion.
"Why didn't you do your homework?"
"Why aren't you doing anything?"
My reply would always be this:
"I was told I'm stupid and can't do anything."
Again, this wouldn't be the last time.

Middle school was always a barrel full of monkeys and fun.
Once again it was boy trouble.
They were all so handsome, so hot, so sexy, etc.
But did they find me attractive?
"You're flat chested."
"You're teeth are crooked."
"Your friend looks better than you."
Does that answer your question?

My friends would console me through my tears.
"You're pretty."
"Boys are just stupid."
Then explain why this keeps happening.

Before high school, over the summer, it was as if I'd been touched by magic.
My once iron-board chest seemed to grow overnight.
My rear something worthy of hands.
My teeth - thanks to a little modern day technology - were aligned.
And the best part?
Someone told me they liked me.

Ninth grade was interesting.
I finally had boys who wanted to be around me.
No more teasing or awaiting that inevitable rejection.
I would stand there in my teasing, flirtatious manner while their eyes would travel to places most girls wouldn't like.
Me?
I let them.
I took it like a woman, smirking defiantly at their little girlfriends.
My eyes would say "Jealous?"
And they'd subconsciously reply that yes, yes they were indeed jealous.
I loved it.

By the time I was in tenth grade I discovered yet again I wasn't happy.
What was it?
What was I doing wrong?
The attention of boys started to drift.
And then I payed attention to the other females who got their attention.
How did I get my answer?
Walking onto a couple amidst the bleachers after school.
"So that's it," I mentally thought as I walked away from their shame.

By the time second semester rolled around I'd been proclaimed a 'whore'.
Did I care?
I should have, but I didn't.
"They like me. What's the problem?"
How stupid I was.

Senior year should have been wonderful.
Should have been great, fantastic, a year that I'd want to remember forever.
But it wasn't.
I had to meet someone like you.
You just had to develop feelings for me.
Just had  to disapprove.
"Why?"
You asked me after I'd been caught for what felt like the millionth time.
I still didn't have my shirt on.
"Because I can."
I could, but that didn't mean it was right.

By the time I was in college I knew everything was wrong.
The boy I was dating.
The things I had done.
Doing that to you.
Me.
Did I realize this too late?

"Remind me again why."
I asked this question for the thousandth time that night.
You chuckled, kissing me through my hair.
"Because you've grown."
Is that it?
I've grown?
How nice.