It's Monday.

Mondays can burn for all I care.

But I know it's just a day that eventually ends and six other, better days later I'm back to another Monday.

Mondays aren't good days for me. Sure, everybody dislikes them, but I reserve a special hatred for them. I'm sleep deprived every day of the week except for the weekends, but Monday it's the worst because I've had enough sleep for the previous two days and suddenly my body has to go back to running on six hours. Of course coffee exists, but I hate the taste and I can't drive to Starbucks because I'm fourteen. I also probably shouldn't be allowed to have a car when I'm sixteen anyway, since I'd drive far away and start a brand new life in California.

I want to, even need to get away. My parents, bless them, don't know my toxic secret and I couldn't imagine if they found out. They want grandchildren, not the aromantic/asexual child that they gave birth to. I'm proud to be me, but I hide. My father and his "Jewish values" state that I must use my body to create another life form I don't want to care for and I don't even want to have sex in the first place. My mother, my clueless mother, thinking I'm fine, everything is going smoothly. The school homecoming dance is in two weeks and all she does is ask when I'm going to get a boy to bring me on his arm to the stupid dance. I don't want one, don't need one. I'd rather go with friends.

But it's Monday, and I can reflect on my sexuality later. I have bigger problems, after all. I pull on my tights that are such a light pink they might as well be white. The contast of the black leotard that goes on would look amazing, if I loved the way it hugged my body. Dancers are supposed to be rail-thin, graceful and perfect. Somehow, when people ask about my hobbies I still use that word- dancer- to describe myself, when I'm not any of those adjectives. But I can shy away from the mirror, grab my bag, and head down the to car and head to class.

I'm self-conscious standing at the barre, making small talk with someone who I don't even think I could call a friend. Everyone around me is so beautiful. Yes, I'm not attracted to anyone but I can still appreciate the simple grace of a human body. I'm confident in my sexuality, and that's about it.

"Straighten your knees!"

"Turn out your feet!"

"Beat beat out, now that's the rhythm for a fouette turn!"

The instructor is just doing her job, but each time she let's out a barking correction it hurts. I want to dance, just not like this. I want it to be free, and empowering but the commands rip me from that reality I want to grasp. But no matter how it shouldn't, it hurts.

My mother must be pissed, but even if she wanted to say something as I stepped into her car she couldn't. Earbuds in, you can't talk to me. She left a pair of heels in the space between my seat and the dashboard, along with some weird black thing that looks like those paper fans I made as a kid. The solid gray seat, covered in general dark soot is great to somewhat sink into and pray for her to just hit the pedal and get me home. I need out of this tight leotard, out of these tights, and out of this constricting image I built around myself.

The car ride is silent. The Horrible Kids EP is blasting in my ears simply to block out any noise, but I'm not paying attention. I'm just trying to sit through the ten minute drive so I can get home, dim my lights, and pretend today never happened. School was fine, but stressful nonetheless. I walk around with a brick wall built around myself so nobody has a reason to stare. But against my wishes, there's the pain in the back of my throat that I get when I'm trying not to cry.

My father's football is playing on the television as I walk in. The score is 0-0 so I leave without a second glance. Why I thought it paint my walls yellow when I was five I would like to know, but hey, it's my room. My bag slides down my shoulder like a waterfall to the ground and I strip. Taking off a leotard without noticing your body is like trying to shave without looking. It works, but it sure is awkward. My arms look too large for the delicate garment so I'm happy to replace the skin tight ensemble for a comfy tank top, pajama pants and a marching band hoodie- black of course. I've developed the skill of being able to change clothes with earbuds in and I'm proud of it.

Clothes- it's funny how we rely on them to get across who we are. The cheerleaders wear short skirts and questionable tops. The band geeks (including me) wear sweatpants and hoodies. Theater kids wear shirts from their previous shows. We associate clothes with the wearer. You don't walk in wearing a spiked leather jacket and say you like listening to nursery rhymes. It just doesn't make sense to us. White dresses are reserved for women getting married, fairy tale princesses, and everything I'll never be. Therefore, I'm never going near one. I'll be in black.

I know I'm just an angsty, emo teenager who desperately needs help but I can't say anything because I just know I'll be invalidated in a heartbeat. I'd rather suffer more in silence than open up to be rejected just to go back into silence. I know I live in a nice house, I could have been poorly raised, and on the surface my life should be perfect.  Coming out would be the best way to fix this mess, but not the best move if I want a kind family.

But as my mother calls me down for dinner I kinda want to do it. Our society puts so much pressure on us and I just want to flip them the bird.

And soon I'm sitting at the table, my father to the right and my mother to the left. My sister sits across from me at our circular wooden table. I take a serving of rice, a piece of chicken and say no, I don't want any soy sauce thank you very much. My mother rambles on about her managing job while everyone else listens and nods their head. But eventually she stops and the table goes silent.

I like to read. People know me for the one girl who sits in the back of the class and reads- and I read a lot. At the climax of the story a not-uncommon sentence mentions how time slows down for the hero. I didn't know how that was possible. But it was, and I felt like it took ages for me to stand up.

It took ages for me to shout.

It took forever to register the confused yet partially understanding expressions to take over their face.

But while sprinting up the stairs time hit me full on and nearly made me fall back.

Even though it all happened it roughly ten seconds, I'm breathing heavy. My lungs are screaming words even I wouldn't say but I don't care. I got it out.

I came out.

I.

Came.

Out.

And the realization hits like a truck but it's a truck carrying not fear but surprisingly relief. I'm too much of an expressive person to hide. I can feel the metaphorical zipper slide down from my head and hitting the floor. The outer skin hits the floor and I step out of it. I slide my window open and throw it out, completely ignoring the screen that covers my window. But it doesn't matter, since it's metaphorical. Cool night air hits my face before I close the window again.

°•°•°•°•°•°

Makeup brushes litter my desk, leaving marks that are a symbol of pride now. Splotches of black, gray, greens and purple will probably stain but I have no time to clean them up if I want to make it to the bus on time. My flags are painted on my face and screw it I'm leaving.

I'm going to be myself.

___________________

I wrote this while feeling super angsty if you couldn't tell.

I wanted to do the challenge because it sounded fun, but I wanted to stay away from a basic romance. LGBTQ+ includes aro/ace people too, but they don't get enough representation. I love Halestorm (the band from which I got the song) because Lzzy Hale, the lead vocalist is openly expressing herself and singing what she wants to. This song is the perfect mix of fierceness and independence.

Thanks for reading ♡

Lyrics:
I used to be tryna be perfect in every way
I used to care about what people say
I never questioned being on picket fences
I'm not afraid about where I fit into the frame
Satisfied to drive in my own lane
So quit denying, yesterday is dying

I'll never be, I'll never be
All of the things that you need me to be
You'll never see, you'll never see
That version of me

I'm not the girl in the white dress
I'm not your fairytale princess
I'm sorry, mama, that I made you cry
Someday you'll know the reason why
I'm not the girl in the white dress
I'm embracing my darkness
I'm really sorry that I let you down
But I'm still gonna make you proud

Close your eyes
Why don't you try to keep an open mind?
I hope you know how hard I really tried
It might be a hard truth but it's not about you
This is mine so don't treat me like I'm a crime
My life, my lesson learned in time
Don't need against you, you're allowed to be you

You'll never see, you'll never see
That version of me

I'm not the girl in the white dress
I'm not your fairytale princess
I'm sorry, mama, that I made you cry
Someday you'll know the reason why
I'm not the girl in the white dress
I'm embracing my darkness
I'm really sorry that I let you down
But I'm still gonna make you proud

I'll never be, I'll never be
All of the things that you need me to be

I'm not the girl in the white dress
I'm not your fairytale princess
I'm sorry, mama, that I made you cry
Someday you'll know the reason why
I'm not the girl in the white dress
I'm embracing my darkness
I'm really sorry that I let you down
But I'm still gonna make you proud