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.