She is a Girl

I wish I had brought more feminine clothes home with me. Something that would immediately identify me as a girl. Instead I brought a plethora of androgynous sweaters and t-shirts. I feel bad for my mother who has to accept that I am not the little girl she thought I would be. I feel worse because I seem to continuously throw it in her face. When small children mistake me for a boy I can feel the discomfort come over both her and I. She defends what is left of the female child she knows she birthed. She insists that I am a girl even though she knows I don't look like one. I hope that she is unconsciously begging them to understand there is more than one way to be a girl, and not everyone with short hair and a sweater is a boy. That even though my chest is bound tightly under two sports bras you can still kind of see that I have breasts. But unfortunately, I think she is trying to convincing herself "this is Melissa, she is a girl."