saylor {10}

I am an enigma. Stronger than they think.

It hurts to be broken, over and over again. But never once did I falter.

Stubborn as a mule, pretty as a stallion. A mother's love once rested its palms upon the apples of young cheeks, pressed her lips to his forehead and sung a thousand praises of the son they will one day want to forget. He loved them all the same. Younger than four, older than three- princes and princesses to share the blessed ground to which he walked, he was happy. Ignorant, yes, but happy nonetheless.

Alas, I was an ugly duckling.

While my siblings tilled the fields I planted roses, red and white and yellow- fairy lights to brighten the dawn. And when ordered to slaughter a chicken I sent it running into the unknown, eyes locked with my father all the while. Defiance was in my blood and pride was my armor. I found strength in what they told me was weak.

Because there is more to life than being strong. Traditional is what my family wanted to call themselves, oppressive is what I settled on. They turned their noses up at anything they deemed unusual and loving them was like walking on eggshells. I hide away colored pencils beneath my pillow for my father's son does not like anything so beautiful. We come from dirt, we should die covered in it.

And I didn't want that.

So they tried to change me, because they told me I was broken. Fear became the glue which held together a pampered prince. One that kissed a girl under the cherry tree and tilled the fields next to his brothers and sisters. One that made his mother proud and bowed his head under his father's gaze. And it was fear that he felt every time he yearned to hide away the little chicks meant for slaughter. It was pain that he felt whenever he tried to plant fairy lights before the dawn.

In the end, there's no point fighting. No point trying to be a man that no one wants.

I'm happy that I'm dead to them.