I’m a woman.
I talk too much.
I have acne.
I’m smart.
I have opinions,
passion,
and ambition.
I love deeply,
feel strongly,
and hurt.
I don’t wear lip gloss
(usually).
I know what I believe.
I say what I mean.
I’m gifted.
I’m pretty.
And I still think I’m marriage material.
‘Cause if I’m not,
then who is?
I think about my great-great grandma
just every now and then.
I think about how I never
knew her, yet without
her I couldn’t be.
I wonder what my great-great grandma
would have thought
had someone suggested
that she rip my great-grandma
out of her womb
and send her little baby
swimming,
spinning
down the drain.
I imagine her feisty
just like me.
A woman of conviction.
Passionate.
Fiery.
I think about my great-great grandma
and all the women
who have gone before me.
I am thankful for the chance
to live
to laugh
to hurt
to think,
and I wonder
how a mortal such as I
could be afforded a choice
that would rob another
of the chance to do the same?
Turn off the stereo.
You’re all alone
and crowds of people
won’t change a thing.
So why delude yourself
into the false security
of lifeless sounds and images
when they only drown out
the truth?
The truth may be unsettling
but at least
it’s the truth.
Even if you’re living a lie,
the lie never negates the fact
that it’s a lie.
So lie down,
embrace yourself
and let the lonliness
that is this life
overwhelm your soul.
Feel the slow steady ache
that’s always been there.
Cradle it in your core
and thank God
that He’s given you a sign.
Amidst the muddled mess of catchy tunes, idle thoughts, mixed emotions, and overused phrases she searched for clarity. She craved a moment where it all stopped—just one second of peace among chaos. “Can I ever just stop thinking?” she wondered. She wanted so badly to know what it would feel like to have a head full of silence—to make her skull into an empty room where she could toss whatever she chose inside and watch it bounce off the walls. “There I go thinking again,” she thought. She gazed with jealous eyes on those she considered simple minded. She wondered if their minds were really so simple after all. Maybe their brains housed the same chaotic mess as hers. “Probably not,” she concluded.
Was it really worth it to be such a deep thinker? The voices of her teachers and mentors throughout the years resounded through her head. “Thinkers change the world.” “Not everyone thinks in color—it’s a gift.” “You can’t change who you are. You’re bound for greatness and there’s nothing you can do about it.” But what if she never got out of her own head? What if she just stayed there like a prisoner held captive by her own thoughts? She’d once confessed that she thought she’d go crazy if she had to spend one more day inside her own head. Her comment was reciprocated with several confused, slightly frightened stares. This is how she knew she wasn’t normal.
Yet, most people seemed to view her lack of normalcy not as a concern, but rather, an asset. Most days it didn’t feel like an asset—more like a curse. She just wanted to be like everyone else. She was certain there wasn’t a person in the world who didn’t long to be like everyone else, which was absurd because everyone else just longed to be like them. However absurd, it still felt nice to wish it. It felt nice to do something that didn’t make sense—to just act without reason in however miniscule a way. And so, to get through the day, with everything in her, she declared (to herself and anyone who might be listening), “I just want to be like everyone else,” but all the while she knew it couldn’t be further from the truth.
