You’re Not Alone In The Universe. At The Very Least, You Have Libraries, Flowers, Strawberries, Poetry,

feminine rage

i was 11

crying over the loss of a friend

"boys and girls are just different" my mom told me

was it helpful or trivializing

i'm still not sure

i was 12

they told us something like 1 in 4 girls are assaulted

we looked around the room

wondering who it might be

terrified of the answer

they told us what the men are looking for

our eyes turned on ourselves

we didn't want to make ourselves more of a target

i was 13

during a self-defense class at church

we learned how to hit, how to kick

how to pop a man's eyes out of his head

barely a teenager

and they told me to hit the dummy like i really meant it

i was 13

ruth bader ginsburg died, and i cried

i rarely cried over anything then

but i cried over her

trump was already trying to replace her that night

i was 14

sitting in the front of the car

while my brothers in the back

made a joke about sexual assault

i wanted to scream at them

but i didn't

i was 14

we were working on a story about the dress code

one of the girls mentioned

that it hadn't mattered what she was wearing

my heart broke

i was 15

i watched as they stripped my right to my body

as people around me celebrated

what happened to my choice

a boy asked me to stop talking about it

for the girls in our class to stop using dark humor

as our only coping mechanism

said it made him uncomfortable

he still has all his rights

i am 16

a friend calls while she is running

just to feel safer

i have to explain to the boys in the room

that she didnt want to talk

she wanted to not be a target

i am 16

my brother says that sometimes

women are so annoying

he just wants to shoot them

i'm not sure he doesn't mean it

i am 16

"it must be his time of the month"

one boy jokes about another acting irrationally

it isn't funny

but i sit in silence anyways

i don't want to be accused of being emotional, too

i am 16

"men's lives are more challenging" he argues

he ignores every point we make

he was never going to listen

but we still try, desperately

finally our teacher shuts us down

i want to yell or cry or do anything to release the rage bottling up inside

the rage that runs through my veins

all of our veins

when they belittle us and take away our rights and make us feel weak

and we let them

because it's all they ever taught us to do

disappointment

when my phone buzzes

and it is his name

and not hers

soldier, poet, king

i took the soldier, poet, king test

i got king

of course i got king

what else was i possibly expecting

when has my life ever not been a burden for me to bear

a weight placed on my shoulders

"a natural leader" they called me as if they did not make me this way

forged me to be independent (quiet) and strong (afraid to ask for help) and a leader (needing to take charge because things are easier if

i

do

them

myself)

kings are the gifted children

i was so far ahead they didn't know what to do with me

and now i'm average

and it hurts

Duty. Strength. Resignation.

when did i stop doing things for the love of them

when did life become a chore

when did everything become a routine to follow before i could be done

when did i start hating everything i did

when did i become the king

was i always the king?

they ruined me

they turned me into this

this is their fault

and now i'm the king

yes, king.

always king.

it was never going to be different.

and i'll take the crown

and live with it

and wish

maybe

i could be the poet instead

personality

who would i be

if you took me apart

stripped me down to my bones

and then polished them until they gleamed

what would be running through my veins?

a hint of humor, a glimpse of girlhood

who would i be if you took out my brain

who am i if i'm not smart

an overachiever

always looking for some way to get ahead

if you dissected my heart, what would exist there?

am i anything at all?

i used to have a personality

i think

but now i am just a hollow shell of a person

it's what tiredness does to a person

stripped out my essence like the machine in fahrenheit 451 replaced mildred's bloods

see

see how i can't even write without hints of my schooling sneaking in

what have i ever been if not smart

and who will i be

when even that

is taken away

At times

I am ashamed

Of how messy I am

Of how broken I am

Of how much I need

And want

And scream

Into voids of people

That don’t seem to care

And despite increasing

Self-awareness

I appear unable to stop

This pattern

Of continuous unraveling

Of traveling a hundred

Different roads

Desperately

And aimlessly

All to wind up at

The same dead end

At this point, I can no longer deny that the only common thread Is me

It's okay if it takes a little longer than you thought.

a playlist

or, the way your apology made me feel

history of man - maisie peters

the exit - conan gray

firearm - lizzy mcalpine

the grudge - olivia rodrigo

abbey - mitski

right where you left me - taylor swift

I hope with time you can breathe easier within yourself and all that hurt your heart that did not deserve to touch it will fade as your soul heals while all those tears you cried become flowers that bloom to sweeten your path and that a time to smile will come as you let yourself turn toward the abundant warmth of light and open to the beautiful kiss of life -J.Wool, Kiss of Life

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am seven

and my reply is

pink

because i am a girl

and pink

is a princess color.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am ten

and i like

green

because a boy told me that pink

is lame and girly.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am thirteen

and i tell them

purple

it is unique and spunky

like i want to be.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am seventeen

and i just say

red

i do not say

it is bright and angry at the world

as i am

i cannot form the words to express

all of my frustrations

so i paint my lips with

rage.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am twenty

and it’s pink

i remember the joy

of being a child

i reclaim the freedom

of femininity

because i cannot remember

what my shoulders felt like

before the depression

hung from them.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am twenty-six

and my answer is

brown

it confuses most people

they don’t see it

they may think of dirt

and dust

and dead things

but it is coffee with friends

and the chocolate chip cookies

my mom used to make.

it is my hair

and my eyes

amber and gold

in the sun

and i love myself

again