like a girl
i haven’t put myself and the word ‘sport’ in the same sentence since 2016
but back when that was possible i was told
almost daily that i threw like a girl
kicked like a girl
caught like a girl laughed
screamed cried
talked danced
walked
i’ve been told more recently that i fuck like a girl
which gave me pause and
meant almost nothing in context
i’m so far from the core tenets
more than one man agrees and has told me so
(to devastating effect that doesn’t work here)
the violence of the sexes (no i do not watch tennis) renders me one of the boys
a pop-backed traitor of a misandrist the internal violence is
astounding
the girls grimace and execute a syrupy slow turn in my direction
men suck don’t worry i agree
it’s easy to root for me when i look
like this
so far away from what we’re detaching me from
only nominally masculine in that i go out bare-faced
i’ll tear myself apart over this
over and over again
if you
squint hard enough
i am like a girl
bram casey (he/him, ngāti maniapoto) is a writer originally from the icy hills of ōtepoti who now calls the nightclubs of te whanganui-a-tara his home. when he's not on courtenay place, he's a second-year theatre studies student at te herenga waka.