The Confessional.

Location

I am the cul-de-sac and the grass on the other side,
a pale yellow room, with wild things in frames
and the door kept shut.
 

I am brown hair, brown eyes, 5’8 or 5’9, 
normal
but never normal enough.
The homemade strawberry ice cream cone,
constantly turned to keep from dripping
(dropped, 
sometimes.)

I am the family that makes the Brady Bunch look broken, 
with cracks left untouched, 
unspoken
mink wraps tossed to little girls for dress-up,
along with the mantra “don’t mess up, 
don’t mess up-“

I am the homecoming queen in a borrowed dress.
 

I am the girl that loves the ocean, 
the sea, 
that goes farther than you can see,
to where the sky shifts,
blue gray gold red
night.

I am the empty starry nights,
untouchable,
full of distant lights
that weigh heavy on my shoulders as I get older
and older.
 

The honeysuckle,
climbing rust in the dark,
taking heart
always searching for something caught
behind the horizon
between the bindings
never finding,
never finding.

 

I am the tangled sheets
and the guilty Sunday mornings.

 

I am the coin, 
tossed tipping two faced
with groaning metal in-between
always having to shine
having to hide
to decide.
 

I am the fence, sagging under the weight of vines.
 

I am the girl with face and fate
that have never quite
been
mine.

Comments

Need to talk?

If you ever need help or support, we trust CrisisTextline.org for people dealing with depression. Text HOME to 741741