MIDNIGHT

I hope you remember me
in the midnights of yourself,
in the ten half moons that
cupped my face and confessed
your love for me on the
last Sunday of April.

How unpleasant it has been,
to only be seen by you when
the Sun has set and Nyx has
stained your vision with her poison.

Even at our best, it was always
with the help of another woman
that you saw my worth,
however temporarily.

I am beautiful too,
you know,
in the vulnerable streams of
daylight, the muted mixture of
sunshine particles and
exhaled pixie dust.

I am magic—
a witch, a deity, and a minx,
yanking oceans with the
center of my own gravity,
undoing the shackles you have
clasped around my ankles
just because I can. 

The Next Time Around

Maybe it’ll be better the next time around.

Because we’ll have grown into the people were were destined to be—- it’ll be so deeply rooted in our souls that even the strongest wind won’t be able to shake it.

And we’ll have grown into our skin and known what it’s like to fit into it perfectly, all on our own, without having to feel like we’re missing a limb whenever we’re apart.

And we’ll have known what it’s like to breathe without our lungs intertwined in our chests and our legs in the sheets and for the first time we will breathe fresh air that is not polluted by toxic love.

And we’ll have seen ourselves in the mirror for who we really are, and stared at reflections that are only ours, not yours and mine or mine and yours.

We’ll be whole, and we’ll be ready, and we’ll be better.

Because we must find peace as two before we can find peace as one.

At least that’s what I’d like to believe about the next time around. 

The Problem with Naming Your Theoretical Children on a Drunken Friday Night

The problem with naming your theoretical children on a drunken Friday night isn't that they might not be pretty enough, or that you might not remember how to spell them right on their birth certificates when the time comes, or even that they might be in the Top 5 Most Common Baby Names in America. It's that now, you have full responsibility over those little named rascals, because before, they were just this idea, this possibility, and now, they're the real deal: all six of them. 

And now you both have to pick favorites, and sides, and decide the colors of their bedroom walls and who has to sleep in the same room as who. And who's going to get up at 3am tonight to feed them because you did it last night and he promised, but he's really tired from work and says he'll make up for it tomorrow night. And whether Phil is going to play football like his uncle or swim like his dad, and whether Becca is going to do ballet like she wants to or gymnastics like all the other girls at school. My loves, do what you love because nothing else will make you happier: not money, not fame, not anything at all.

And now you have to teach them how to share and say please and thank you, and that it's not okay to eat in church, but here's a bag of Cheerios Kate, sweetheart, just please stay quiet for the next hour or so, and Matt, please stop pulling on your sister's hair. And how you can only have cookies from the cookie jar after dinner, and even then you can only have one. And how 5 x 2 is 10 but 5 to the power of 2 is a whole 'nother thing, which is 25 by the way. But don't be too hard on yourself, because mistakes are okay and you are so much more than just a test grade.

And before you know it they'll be falling in love just like you two did on an elevator that first day of college way back when, and suddenly they'll be saying they don't need you anymore. And here come the dates and the curfews and the tears-- oh, the tears! And Addie swears she'll never find anyone ever again but honey you will, I promise you, you will, just give it some time.

And then before you know it they'll be getting  married and you'll be giving them away, and then it'll just be you two again. Because everyone has moved to other states to start lives of their own and you'll just be those old folks in some picture frames in their living rooms. And you'll be sitting on the back porch on a Sunday evening watching the sunset with a couple of drinks in hand, thinking to yourselves, "When did this all happen?"

And then you'll remember it was when you decided to name your theoretical children on a drunken Friday night, just the two of you alone in the dark, in your poster-filled dorm room. It was when you were wondering if you'd had too much to drink or if the warm feeling inside your chest was because of the way he was looking at you. It was when he said he loved you for the first time and you believed him, and oh sweetheart, it's okay that you did; I would have too. It was when you didn't know better because you're still learning, still growing, still hurting; but I promise you dear, it's why you're here.

The Winner Takes It All

As I chew this garlic bagel with cream cheese as a substitute to my preferred plain, purchased with the five dollar bill I had forgotten was in the pocket of an old jean jacket, I can't help but marvel at how incredibly stuck I am. Stuck in the sense that  my privileged, suburban teenage life is going absolutely nowhere; at least not in any sense that matters.

 

Today I headed over to one of the local supermarkets in our lovely bubble of a town in the hopes of getting hired. While I sat on the bench near the entrance, waiting for the manager to return from the bank, my worst demon, Mr. Social Anxiety, crept his way into my mind and before I knew it, I was out the automatic doors and on my way home. A sense of defeat gnawed at my core as I walked past landmarks that have become a part of who I am, and I grew more and more frustrated at my incapability to get a move on with my life. Whether it was the fear of rejection, or that of failure, or the overall feeling that no one would ever want or like me, even for a job, I just couldn't will myself to stay on that silly bench. 

 

I know that I've grown a lot lately, and that I should give myself credit for that, but it always seems to be in ways that I want, rather than in ways that I need. Not that this is necessarily a bad thing, but my alleged growth has done nothing to help me in terms of practicality. I can definitely say that I am remarkably more emotionally stable now that I was months ago. I'm proud of how often I've been writing lately, testing out different styles and exploring new techniques left and right. I've found a sense of identity and have solidified my beliefs and voiced out my opinions, namely about the importance of feminism, in the hopes that I can make people more aware. I'm grateful to have been granted an editorial internship with the help of my principal; an opportunity I wouldn't be able to have otherwise.

 

Yet, despite all of this, the reality of it is that I'm tired of being Daddy's Little Girl, a spoiled brat, a privileged rich kid, and any other title that comes with the part. I loathe and am extremely embarrassed about the fact that I am still driven places, and that my main source of money is my father's wallet. The degree of my dependency is absolutely humiliating, and must so desperately come to an end. But every time I try, someone else always seems to swoop in, leaving me empty handed and rejected. I often wonder if these are the doings of the universe and if I'm trapped in a never ending karmic cycle with no way out, but I guess that's up to the Fates to decide.

 

What boggles me the most is the level of ease at which other people my age seem to be able to attain these simple desires, and still have the audacity to complain about employment, a salary, transportation, and overall independence. God only knows how much I want all of those things: to be able to have my own money, to be able to drive myself places, and overall, to have a sense of control, and rid myself of this feeling of complete and utter inadequacy. I've been given a lot of big breaks and opportunities that some can only ever dream about, and for that I am grateful; but it's the mundane things that seem to be ever so slightly out of my reach, and I'm left with more questions than answers as to why.