Sometimes I hate my boyfriend.

He can never understand what it feels like to be uncomfortable in his body. He will never understand what it feels like to believe that people want him dead.

He will never feel so hated for simply being alive, that he wants to kill yourself. To think that "no one wants me alive, so what's the point?"

He will never be afraid to go to work, just because it's five am and dark out and there are people lurking around the corner waiting to grab him, violate him, take away his most intimate feelings and treasures, dismember him, kill hi,. Disgrace him. He will never have to decide, "Should I risk my life for my job? Should I risk my life to go to the gas station tonight? Should I risk my life to go shopping?"

He will never know what it feels like to doubt his right to life. To doubt his right to stand outside in his yard and watch the moon rise.

He won't have to cry because someone died that looked like him, killed because he fit a certain profile. He doesn't shiver every time a lover touches him, wondering if this one will grab him, rape him, humiliate him, destroy him. He will never fear his own family and aquaintances simply because of their sex, never shy away from people in the supermarket for fear of being touched.

He's not a walking target, a piece of meat, a slave, a victim.

He's a man.