its long
but long for a reason
hence why i call them poetic stories
here is the most recent one! (came out of NOWHERE too!)
remember back in the day
back when we wore those sweaters that were anything but fashionable
blew kisses to the sky
deemed the concrete our canvas
and painted laughter with chalk
creating be-buh be-beats with our feet
that moved so rapidly it was almost like we were walking on air
like we were flying
and we were
soaring on innocence and dreams and concerns no greater than
basic multiplication and snacktime
trading cookies for ricecrispies treats
and coloring book schemes
back when a pinch on the arm was a badge of honor
because everyone knew that if he chose to pinch you then
you must be the apple of his prepubescent eye
when the deadliest of germs were cooties
and ribbons licked our pigtailed curls
girls were girls and boys were boys
and secret handshakes and codes so dear to us
we swore not even the CIA could crack
we mastered piglatin and gibberish like they were the language of elite
and to us they were
somewhere between naptime and middle school
between professional wrestling and sesame street
we lived in la juventude
before b stood for bureaucracy
and c stood for capital
we laced our minds with the alphabet
and our pens with cursive outlines
we found mystery in the sky and our limits didn't exist
everything was possible
anything was tangible
as long as we finished our homework first
jumping to the moon
swimming in the milkyway and vacationing on the stars of our selection
was a daily activity
this, depending on how full our schedule was.
"oh its tuesday? before or after my nap?
disregard zoo adventures, we are 2 juice boxes and
3 cheese sticks overdue for a good game house
i'll be mommy this time because i was the daughter 3 times already"!
and this was as serious a matter as any stock market, business meeting
or appointment, because we were dedicated to our youth
even if that was just a sometimes thing
even if somedays, some momements, some times in between
we had to age much more rapidly than our childhood was ready for
even when the reality of going home meant entering silence
because no one was there; because bills don't pay themselves
tiredworkingmothers do
and somedays, somewhere between keeping the lights on
so the monsters wouldn't get you
and realizing that mommy isn't there
so that she can keep the lights on
it started to slip from you
drip
there was a drop of your innocence
somewhere between swapping goodies and stories about superhero daddies
so fly justice league has nothin on em
you brought swinging arms to school because well, the superhero lost his cape
and was now sipping kryptonite from a beer can
and goodies weren't as easy to come by as excuses for why your daddy doesn't pick you up from school
how did you go from packing up your princess backpack at the end of the day
to packing moving boxes more than you packed lunches?
how did you become so much more fluent in goodbye waves than hand clapping games
aren't all nine year old hands the same?
aren't five year old hands the same?
or was it just you balling five little fingers into fists
asking, begging mommy and daddy to come to your rescue
because you swore no other hand should touch you in places
you weren't even ready yourself to navigate
and them turning you away because, how could their friends daughter
"do our baby any harm? they're just playing a game"
a game a game a game a
violate my innocence so i can stow it away to bottom of my
toy chest mind
shut the door and the lights
til i make it go away
make it
make it stop
make it end like play time when the bell rings
so loud but nobody was hearing me
til i pretend a make believe that a little child should never have to be
and make it fade away
a game she said
a game
i didn't like those games
but
she kept playing.
do you want to be the girl? she asked
i was the girl. the little girl. the baby girl.
but really all i wanted to do was, take my little girl hands
my little five year old hands and
cover my eyes and maybe
maybe not exist
somewhere in the midst of merry go rounds
i fell off and was tumbling on the ground
and no one saw me
even then, i wiped off my bloody heart
dusted off my battered innocence
put my hopes in my pocket and kept running
running, spinning, jumping
being
being exactly what ages 0 to young adult are supposed to be
chewing bubble gum and chasing ice cream trucks
licking brownie battered spoons so thick
you could spread some on your heart
and keep the good times glued for safe keeping
playing hide and seek
peeking through dainty fingers
man, was i a bad hider
1,2, skip a few, 99, 100
and then the hunt was on
sweat on brow dripping
holding your breathe
pulse racing
oh my gosh i hope they don't see me
TAG!
bad at hiding from my young faced friends
and bad at hiding from a feeling that i found out made
grown ups fall to pieces that no body could pick up
made teenagers stamp themselves with early expiration dates
made young men and women doubt there was a God
made girls like me pop prescription heart fixers behind closed doors
like we used to pop gum drops hoping medicated happiness would taste the same
because the doctor said it might make me okay
but i swear, that first moment i looked in the mirror
tilted my head, puckered my face
and exploded like the sun combusting into pain dipped daggars
ready to tear my reflection to unidentifiable shreds
molten fire tears that melted my joy as they rode the curves of
high rise mocha cheeks
in that moment when
a richter breaking quake obliterated the center of my
7 year old core
i knew that depression was really good finding
finding me
it bit into my flesh
crushing my bones
digging deep into my marrow and sucking out
all the genuine youthful smiles i had left
and i learned the craft of creating masks very early on
still loved disney movies
and nickelodeon
and had a desire to taste that unnatural green slime
still loved visits to my cousins
still distracted by anything with a bright color and a fun sound
still thought my big sisters were the coolest
still loved playing dress up
still loved to make up songs and imagine being center stage
still a child
broken, but a child by definition
sometimes not by emotion
somenights not by my thoughts
but i was nonetheless a child
a miniature version of the mother whose
speech tasted like jolloff rice and fufu to my
Liberian American ears
whose caramel skin shined like gold to me
who gave me kisses before her grave yard shift so i had some colored lips
whose hands wiped tears from a child who missed her favorite woman
whose fingers became black
whose eyes had bags full of stories too painful for her mouth to tell
whose feet had swollen to double their size
whose heart was 4 different shades of the blues i learned to paint in art class
yet so driven
it still kept beating
who hadn't understood the immense beauty in all her scars
and her flat mouthed smile
who through exhaustion made us stockings for Christmas
costumes for dance recitals
and clothes with her bare hands
that was me
i was
endless stories untold
and wrapped up and muted and hushed
so that i could feign functionality before i hit puberty
was whispers to God pleading death and life
before i ever even tasted what life was like
was spilled orange juice and crushed realities
was saturday morning cartoons
and hugs, kisses and lap sitting on my Grandma
fighting off any who challenged my love
was sunday morning sermons all by myself
was bedtime stories and songs from my mama's homeland
was cap'n crunch milk dripping from the side of my mouth
giggling silly infectious laughter
spinning til the room moved with me
dancing for my family like i was on stage for the queen
painting each toe for every color of the rainbow i anticipated
because the sky cried like my tears
was
well, i was a kid
and through my rose colored lenses of
grown up travesties
it seems
somedays i'd still go back there
to that place
it was scary but my juventud kept me whole
and so did my God
he held me even when i was in pieces
and i know my story is not my own
and i know
millions of babies will live their lives just so
and i know millions of children
don't taste lazy mondays or the joy of the purple dinosaur
so i count my blessings like i counted my oreos
like i was eager to count my fingers and toes
cause i take everything
in everything
i sip it up and spit it out for the universe
(like when i used to drink milk and make it come out my nose)
because i am a woman today
because of the child i was
and i know My God made me just so
He made me just so
beautifully formed
cracks intended
do not return to sender
but give your imperfections to the world
cause believe me baby, they have them to
and smile, smile, smile
because though i'm closer to 21
than 6 or 7
my little years, were mine
and in between the rough edges
i found heaven
the best part though, the best part about being naive
was at night, when ma made us fall on our knees
and faithfully
wholeheartedly
some say because we didn't know better
i say because sometimes children KNOW much better
with all that was within us we said
"now i lay me down to sleep
i pray the Lord my soul to keep
and if i die before i wake
i pray the Lord my soul to take
God bless mommy
God bless daddy
God bless ALL my people...
and make me a good girl
amen"
and make me a good girl
he did.
because i am His girl.
How God keeps promises
:)
love, compassion, royalty
qu3eng
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