i think when i am away from home i do not know how to take pictures to document my journey. often in moments that i want to capture with my nikkon i wonder what image could depict emotions that never reveal themselves in a manner i can necessarily understand. i miss home yet i do not want to leave here. i am salsa dancing with my confusion of what to do with my life with a bright smile with teeth that my lips do not cover for five straight minutes. the longest smile i have had in months. i do not take pictures of my visit because i do not want to remember what i do not want to be a memory.
I want to act on my sadness. I want to recognize it, honor it and then paint over it with something new and translucent. Something that can be everything and clear and bright and fresh like the pomegranate seeds that crunch between my teeth while the tart juice slides down my needing throat. I want to stop making intentions that never keep, I want to be strong enough to fight through them, I am woman hear me roar, instead of echoes inside my head never pushing my hands to the keyboard or my voice to speak or my feet out of my torn and rotting and dirty house slippers. I want to look outside of my windows and open them and stand on my frosted roof and jump down into the pool beneath them, because I can, not should not would, but can. I want to press my head to the prayer mat and ask for guidance instead of only reciting surahs every night to quiet my neurosis and anxiety. I want to be better through my sadness, not in spite of it, but with it, moving me towards something with orange and blue like the walls in my room that mock me for not being what I painted.
In my dreams I finish all those awkward conversations I refuse to start. Like where I apologize to the girl whose boyfriend I took from her. And she somehow forgives me. Or the friend whose trust I betrayed, and she embraces me without malice. But when I speak to him, I don’t get any closure. Our words dance around endlessly in the same circle, until there’s no more sleep to be had.
I am fourteen
and my skin has betrayed me
the boy I cannot live without
still sucks his thumb
in secret
how come my knees are
always so ashy
what if I die
before morning
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
I have to learn how to dance
in time for the next party
my room is too small for me
suppose I die before graduation
they will sing sad melodies
but finally
tell the truth about me
There is nothing I want to do
and too much
that has to be done
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
Nobody even stops to think
about my side of it
I should have been on Math Team
my marks were better than his
why do I have to be
the one
wearing braces
I have nothing to wear tomorrow
will I live long enough
to grow up
and momma’s in the bedroom
with the door closed.
