There are many types of… Shoes

 

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There are many types of… Shoes is a flexagon where different styles of shoes are display. It uses the principle of clothes and accessories being able to describe a style. The piece talks into a deeper reality that even if it can tell something about an individual it cannot define it, just like with gender.

The Monologues

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The Monologues is a book created for a performance pice called “The Monologues”, a collaborative monologue presentation of texts written by queer individuals.

The Monologues book includes two text by artist Mayra Espinoza.

I Remember

I used to be a women.

I used to be that girl everyone could step on and command to do their will.

Now I’m independent and think for myself.

I’m not a women anymore, but that doesn’t mean my past stopped existing.

I was a girl unaware of the dangers of the real world, but decided to venture it anyways.

I remember those nights where I lost all power over my body.

My entire life I believed that was normal.

That women were always supposed to go where the man wanted her to go, and agree with whatever HE said, and laugh at HIS jokes, and giggle at HIS compliments, and let HIM kiss her and touch her without asking for permission.

I believed it. I was just a fool who trusted blindly.

I remember those men… how could I forget?

They didn’t care about me, they only care about my body and how it could satisfy them.

I remember the jokes, the gazes, the compliments, and the presents.

Most of the time I wasn’t sure if I wanted what was coming, the rest of the time, I was sure I didn’t.

They never asked, their words were never clear, they just acted and expected me to “go with the flow”.

I remember

A friend told me one day “Come over and lets watch a movie”. I barely remember the first twenty minutes of that movie. My mind was too distracted by his hand stroking up and down my arms and my back. I also remember saying no, and how he continued regardless. He tricked me to believe that’s what I wanted it. I remember the weight of his body on top of me, my failed attempts of screaming to please stop, and the tears streaming down my face.

I remember

I met a nice guy and started dating him. “Let’s go to the movies” he said. Once he arrived to pick me up he told me he wasn’t feeling like watching a movie anymore. He took me to a motel instead. It was a new experience. I was so nervous. I didn’t know what to expect. It was all his doing and I had no word on it. It all happened so fast I had no time to say I didn’t want it.

I remember

I was at a party with a friend one night. I recognized one guy, an acquaintance. He approached at the end of the night  and told me “It’s too late for you to go back home, you can stay in my place for tonight, no problem”. He drove me to his place, played some music on the way. After showing me around, he lead me to his bed and took my clothes off. My mind was spinning around, too intoxicated to think straight or form any words. The following morning, all I could think about was getting back home.

Those are my experiences, but they don’t represent how it is for everyone who has experienced rape.

I was told I was a woman, therefore I had to wear dresses and play with dolls, I needed to learn how to cook, I don’t even dream about going out or staying inside the house alone. And most important of all, I had to find myself a man. Because of the way I was raised I felt my voice was not valid, that my desires and needs didn’t matter and I had no other purpose than to obey and look pretty.

I was raised as a women, even though I never felt like one.

Nobody talks about it. Rape. They are afraid of the word. Rape. It gets omitted from conversations. Rape. Grown-ups want to prepare us for the future but never talk about the danger we might have to face.

Like rape. We need to start talking about it more. To prevent, to protect, to heal.

I wasn’t raped because I was a women. I was raped because I was never taught how to fight back.

Even if I’m not a women now, I’m still at risk to be raped. Everyone is -friends, family, neighbors, classmates, the person next to you, regardless of their gender.

So let’s talk about rape.

 

Please don’t cry

How can I ever tell you?

I can’t find a way to put the words together.

I owe you so much, you have always been there for me, whether I wanted it or not.

Every time, you knew exactly what to say or what to do. You educated me.

So how can I do this to you?

You might think I betrayed you, that I lied to you, that I don’t even love you.

Because that’s what you said years ago, you don’t trust me.

I worked so hard to gain your trust back, but now… telling you who I really am, might put all my efforts in vain.

My mind gets divided, between telling you everything about me, same way I do to my close friends, and keeping it all in, for fear.

Fear that you might get angry at me, yell, pushed me away, ignore me, or worst cry

My weakness, please don’t cry

I wonder if you noticed, the way I dressed less feminine, my manly body gestures, the fact that I don’t talk about my love life and evade conversations about myself.

I can see the traits from back when I was a child, so… did you notice?

Did you noticed I only wanted to play with my brother’s toys, I didn’t like to wear makeup or wear pink dresses, that I felt uncomfortable for having boobs and a vagina.

I want to tell you, “I’m not your daughter anymore”

If I explain that my gender changes, that I’m gender fluid.

Would you understand what that means?

I want to tell you, “I don’t like only boys mom, I also like girls and people of other genders”

Would you accept it? Or would you make fun of me and trash talk the way I heard you do about other gay and queer people?

And don’t let me get started in your religion (God save me), which you are so caught up in is not letting you see your child needs you once more.