I don’t want to give up the things I love, to make sacrifices for the good of another, to lean on a person so fully that my decisions become their decisions. I don’t want to feel like I need someone. Not yet.
Remember: all-inclusive does not include alcohol.
My home is not one place, not rooted to where I was born or the words stamped to my ID. My home is infinite—all the places I’ve wandered, all the lessons I’ve learned, all the people I’ve kissed or loved or laughed with.
I didn’t yet know what those heels could do, what that mirror could say. What a girl gains, gives, grows.
Buying a $0.25 gumball.
Slurping your soup.
Blowing bubbles.
You are legs, voices, attitudes of those who came before you and of the babies you will one day bear.
I run my fingertips
over the soft skin
between my ribs
and hip. The divot,
the place where your hands
touched.
A woman on the corner stood on a small wooden box. Her hair was pulled back and she held a megaphone to her lips, screaming, ‘You should be ashamed of yourselves. Look at you! Look at what you’re wearing. You’re all going to Hell. ALL OF YOU!”
Words are terrifying because they can both create and destroy. Because I cling so desperately to them.
I am a woman
but I will not flit between
delicate and empowered.
I will not grace the vase
on your bedside table.