Pojktanten

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When I was a kid,

I thought that snails changed shells.

I thought it was a beautiful idea,

changing your home, your exterior.

The idea that your body

wasn't linked to who you are.

I actually believed that

up to now.

I never realized that all those

empty shells were dead snails.

The first time I saw Eli,

I was 17.

I saw him at a distance.

I was fascinated by his androgyny

and his long red hair.

Finally, someone who dared

to be more than just a boy or a girl.

He had a name for his rebellion:

Boy Hag-Lady.

I think I'm in love.

I've cut down on my meds,

so I might get some crazy ideas.

The theme is Gothic.

I was thinking of a dead tree.

I feel like one at times.

I wrote it as a metaphor

in my journals when I was 16.

I compared my life

to pruning a tree.

I would have to cut off certain

parts of myself to make it work.

I've decided to invite

a few people I love...

and say goodbye

to my youth.

Which has been hellish...

And embrace the fate

that awaits me.

Whatever it may be.

Youth is dead.

Here's to youth.

SHE MALE SNAILS:

We usually bathe together.

I work

for Ericsson's IT Support,

in an open-plan office.

I often suffer from anxiety;

I'd been depressed for a long time.

I really didn't

want to be medicated,

but finally I felt

I had no other choice.

I started taking antidepressants.

They make you feel weird

in the beginning.

It was like people came out of posters

and spoke to me. I felt insane.

I kept having all these thoughts;

I couldn't focus on my job.

It was like a monologue

in my head.

I remember calling my doctor

during my lunch break.

I got stronger sedatives, but they didn't

help, so I took more than the dosage.

That didn't help either.

And I'm supposed to be a consultant!

And felt I had no hope of a future.

I thought I would never be able to do

anything else. So I took sick leave.

A few weeks later, I saw

some pictures of Saint Sebastian.

And I decided

I wanted to be a writer.

I want to write about those beautiful

dreams that never come true.

Do you want to see my collection?

Do you know how snails screw?

Lie down on the couch.

You can keep your underwear on.

You don't carry a lipstick anymore.

You have Oxazepam instead.

It seems to work the same,

just a little simpler.

In the past

when things got overwhelming,

you would take out your emergency

lipstick and paint your lips red.Saca

And you could breathe again.

Sometimes you kept going and

painted your whole face red. Red.

You pretended

you were blushing.

I am not from here.

Where I come from, you don't get

raped at a party by some f*ggot.

Where I come from,

people don't throw dog poop at you.

Where I come from, you don't

wake yourself up screaming.

You don't puke

after every meal.

And you're never weaker

than the drunk macho guys.

Where I come from,

you're never scared.

Where I come from,

it's always springtime.

And the cherry trees

are always in bloom.

And the sky is always white,

white like a piece of paper.

Where I come from,

you never long to be somewhere else.

I'm going to be worth something.

I'm going to be worth so much more.

I live near an industrial area.

Behind it is a big hill.

It's made of old garbage

and excavation waste.

Out there, near the incineration

plant, the air seems cleaner.

I dream of meeting Eli,

the Boy Hag-Lady.

He'll save me

from this two-gender world.

I searched for him for years,

but didn't have the guts to contact him.

Finally, I found him on the Internet.

Eli had written

a description of himself:

"One day Boy Hag-Ladies

will rule the world."

I thought it was very touching.

And one day we met

at the station.

We talked.

I couldn't find the right words.

And I had a strong feeling inside me.

I thought we ought to be friends.

I wanted to get physically

close to him and talk.

I couldn't get closer;

it was frustrating.

We went separate ways in the subway.

And then I moved away to Malmo.

He survived school.

Basketball. Take That. Jerking off.

A finger sneaks into Sebastian's ass.

One of the jocks'.

Pine trees outside the window. The

teacher smells of gender. Pancakes.

A shower room. He locks himself in.

His classmates hose him down.

Cole slaw. A jock presses him up

against the toilet.

He feigns a jab. Laughingly.

Friday the 13th. Math. History.

One of the jocks pees in the dust.

It splashes onto his legs.

Everything seems

to penetrate Sebastian.

A fork in the knee.

A tongue in his ear.

His endless happiness

seen through blurred vision.

All this is freedom in a box.

I was 17,

and a dropout.

I had sort of an identity crisis.

I longed to belong somewhere.

I longed for change,

both external and internal change.

A sort of rebirth.

A mutant, a super hero.

A girl with breasts and a cock.

I felt that I was bullied a lot,

because of my femininity,

and my androgyny.

But that was just

a natural part of me.

That was when

I broke up with the love of my life.

I pulled away from my dad.

I wanted to break free of males.

I started to hang out with feminists.

I felt very inspired by Ulrika Dahl,

who was a feminist activist.

She spoke of

reclaiming your femininity.

And that's when I decided...

to go all out

with my androgyny.

I started dressing

girlishly or ladylike.

The femininity

became sort of my rage.

My way of giving the finger

to other people's expectations.

We're heading for a party.

I haven't seen Eli for years, and

we just made out for the first time.

We pass some guys,

who whistle at us.

We head for the bridge

that leads into town.

We're both happy.

Then we sense

that the guys are following us.

I can see a pink polo shirt

in the corner of my eye.

I start thinking of fancy cakes.

Beautiful, fancy cakes

with cherries and whipped cream.

One of the guys calls out:

"Hey, sweetheart, hold up!"

I feel the energy buzzing,

how angry they are at being ignored.

I grab Eli's arm.

And I wish that everything

would just disappear.

Bam! Down we go.

One of them kicks me,

another hits Eli in the head.

My knee is bleeding.

One of them finds a rock

the size of a heart.

He squeezes it in his hand.

"I'm going to count to three. If you're

not running, I'll bash your heads in."

"One, two, three."

We run.

We emerge at the bridge

that overlooks the city.

We sit down on a bench,

the taste of blood in our mouths.

It is a clear, crisp evening

in December.

Our breath turns to mist.

And there we are,

two lesbian boys. 4 ever.

Eli visits me in Malmo.

I meet him

at the Central Station.

He has cut his long hair.

He's wearing a cap, a black

leather jacket, and a stubbly beard.

At my place,

he shows me something he wrote.

Continuous run-on sentences,

written in Notepad.

He tells me it's going to be a book.

We have our first bath together.

It feels great, the steam dissolving

away my edges. I'm floating.

Eli wants to find a way of being

that will work in real life.

And I think that two Boy Hag-Ladies

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