walk up that mountain and discover the invisible cuttings in the granite where I once listened to my father call me a girl. I’ll never forget my father’s words on that day, or how my face felt after he slapped me, or the sight of the blood on my brother’s pants. I did not understand, but I did know that I wanted to model myself after my mother. From that day, I renounced the part of me that was his and hated the fact I was male.
