Joni said boys can’t be pretty. Said boys can’t stare long into mirrors and imagine themselves at 30. Can’t wear ruffles or paint their nails or carry Whitney Houston notes in front of people. Can’t cross their legs. Can’t dance with their hips. Can’t play house-- ‘less it’s to sit there and shut up. Can’t drink from a straw, eat fried chicken with a fork, or decline an offer of tobacco. I asked her what, then, could boys do? She spat her gum on the floor: everything else.
-Cebo Campbell
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