my vagina is falling out of my uterus
my wisdom tooth is growing a third arm
my right wrist has gone on strike
and the mosquitoes have claimed 13 spots on my body.
i’m a bloody destruction zone.
It’s that thing when you’re with someone, and you love them and they know it, and they love you and you know it… but it’s a party… and you’re both talking to other people, and you’re laughing and shining… and you look across the room and catch each other’s eyes… but – but not because you’re possessive, or it’s precisely sexual… but because… that is your person in this life. And it’s funny and sad, but only because this life will end, and it’s this secret world that exists right there in public, unnoticed, that no one else knows about. It’s sort of like how they say that other dimensions exist all around us, but we don’t have the ability to perceive them. That’s – That’s what I want out of a relationship. Or just life, I guess.
i used to colour the clouds blue
and leave the sky white because
white was the colour of absence
and clouds are of substance
i used to contour the clouds blue
to mark the edges because
i thought clouds are autonomous entities
distinct from the backdrop of the universe.
For years, the sky is white
and the clouds are blue
as only my fingers knew
For years, I chased after them,
through meadows and over the rainbows
over the rooftops and under my bed
the devious clouds stretched and hid
the closer i get the farther they become.
i was a youngling seeking guidance.
but hands outreached, i grasp at nothingness.
in time, i learned that clouds are mirages.
they are not blue, nor white.
they don’t have a contour, a shape, a body.
they don’t have the answers i look for.
because. clouds – they are completely free,
by this human world,
by my wishes or desires,
associating and dissociating
without obligation or afterthought
without noticing the lost girl with outstretched palms
sometimes i look up nostalgically.
remembering the girl that i used be.
the girl who chased after clouds.
They want me to show them who I am in 250 words.
Sitting here, staring the the question prompts on a still blank page, I am both under and overwhelmed. Twenty-one years, all leading up to this point of judgement. They want a precis of my life: short, succinct, logical, directional. Unfortunately my life is none of these.
Thus is my life, confusing and, at times, pointless. 250 words? What I want is to strip down, present myself stark naked. I want to dance as if deranged, show them my left kidney and small intestines, and the irregular patterns of my neurons. The content of my cranial a painting on the wall. Strips of my chromosome played like a cassette tape.
I want to show them – show you – the lub-dub of the unsynchronized heart. Don’t forget the yellow butterflies in my gut – I need to show you the place they take me. Levitating I have floated away.
Forrest Gump: Will you marry me?
Jenny turns and looks at him
Forrest Gump: I’d make a good husband, Jenny.
Jenny Curran: You would, Forrest.
Forrest Gump: …But you won’t marry me.
Jenny Curran: sadly … You don’t wanna marry me.
Forrest Gump: Why don’t you love me, Jenny?
Forrest Gump: I’m not a smart man… but I know what love is.