written awhile back....uhm...last year.
It all began when the sky fell. Cloud boots, wet rocky gravel beneath those shaved legs. It all began when I fell.
But it really all began before that. It began when my cousin came to visit. Impish grin, messy brown hair and honey skin…Angela. Flower dresses and pink bows and heart shaped purses stuffed with candies and little dolls, she was made up of. Not like me. She wasn’t like me. I was that pale skinned girl, gray eyes and rain. I watched her dance from my corner. Her long arms swayed and the adults wanted more. So she danced, more, more, more… “Ivory, Ivory! Join me!” She’d call, but I’d just stare at her through blank, gray pupils. I couldn’t give because I needed what I had. The adults wanted to take and take, until I couldn’t recognize myself. I was their rag doll. She pulled me up and I whimpered, shutting my eyes and struggling to get away. My father snickered. “She can’t dance. Angie, let her go.” I was crying now, and she dropped me. Then she went back to her graceful ballet as they stared in awe. I could never be her. As much as I tried, I would always be that shy, blonde anti-social being. And she’d be the ballerina, letting them take a little and then have them demanding more. She’d make me want too, eventually. So I ran.
I ran out onto the wet pavement, letting myself splash a little in the puddles with my cloud covered boots. I took nothing with me, but a small bottle of my mother’s perfume. There was little left. When it ran out, I figured, she’d be gone altogether. Then my mind cut to the past. She was a catch. Summer dresses with orange ruffles and flowers in her hair, and she loved me. But she didn’t love herself. The sound of her crying in the shower is still with me. But she killed herself. She left me. She left me.
I found myself still walking, spraying some perfume on myself. Maybe to remember.
But that was then. Now I’d be at the bus stop soon and I could be gone forever. Fuck all of them.
But the bus never came. I didn’t wait long enough on that huge bench. I couldn’t. I wasn’t brave enough. “You’re like your mother.” And maybe I was. I ran back home, and fell inside. There I watched Angie leave and my father die. There I watched myself die, in that house that was never a home.
But it really all began before that. It began when my cousin came to visit. Impish grin, messy brown hair and honey skin…Angela. Flower dresses and pink bows and heart shaped purses stuffed with candies and little dolls, she was made up of. Not like me. She wasn’t like me. I was that pale skinned girl, gray eyes and rain. I watched her dance from my corner. Her long arms swayed and the adults wanted more. So she danced, more, more, more… “Ivory, Ivory! Join me!” She’d call, but I’d just stare at her through blank, gray pupils. I couldn’t give because I needed what I had. The adults wanted to take and take, until I couldn’t recognize myself. I was their rag doll. She pulled me up and I whimpered, shutting my eyes and struggling to get away. My father snickered. “She can’t dance. Angie, let her go.” I was crying now, and she dropped me. Then she went back to her graceful ballet as they stared in awe. I could never be her. As much as I tried, I would always be that shy, blonde anti-social being. And she’d be the ballerina, letting them take a little and then have them demanding more. She’d make me want too, eventually. So I ran.
I ran out onto the wet pavement, letting myself splash a little in the puddles with my cloud covered boots. I took nothing with me, but a small bottle of my mother’s perfume. There was little left. When it ran out, I figured, she’d be gone altogether. Then my mind cut to the past. She was a catch. Summer dresses with orange ruffles and flowers in her hair, and she loved me. But she didn’t love herself. The sound of her crying in the shower is still with me. But she killed herself. She left me. She left me.
I found myself still walking, spraying some perfume on myself. Maybe to remember.
But that was then. Now I’d be at the bus stop soon and I could be gone forever. Fuck all of them.
But the bus never came. I didn’t wait long enough on that huge bench. I couldn’t. I wasn’t brave enough. “You’re like your mother.” And maybe I was. I ran back home, and fell inside. There I watched Angie leave and my father die. There I watched myself die, in that house that was never a home.