what a terrible boy I would be

At some age I can't remember, my post-shower ritual included scrunching gel into my long, wavy hair and throwing it up in an old beach towel. Without visible head hair, one of the only signifiers of girliness on my relatively unadorned pre-teen bod, I would stare at my face in the huge rectangular mirror and think,

"What a terrible boy I would be! Such a heart-shaped, girly face."

 Instead of thinking "what a nice-looking girl I am!" I thought "What a terrible boy I would be."

This is not-insignificant. At whatever age that was,  I was already beginning to recognize that

a) being a teen girl is really fucking difficult and affords you very little respect (social capital, yes, because VIRGIN TEEN GIRLS ARE HOT WET HOLES JUST WAITING TO BE FUCKED!-- respect, no.)
b) and that maybe being a teen boy is hard but ultimately lends you more power in whatever sad parade it is we have which constitutes a human community, so perhaps I would like that better?
c) I was not ready for either and would maybe like to be a koala bear instead, or a book or a honeybee

What a terrible boy I would be!
What a terrible boy I would be!  
What a terrible boy I would be.

The only realistic option for me would be to make do with my body (the hand grenade). Before I was naive enough to think I could (or wanted to) bend "it" to my will, I tried not to think about "it" ("it" being my body, which I incorrectly understood to be a separate thing from me, m-e).

What a terrible boy I would be!
What a terrible boy I would be!  
What a terrible boy I would be!