I put my heel against the metal and slam it even harder
as if all the conflict and pain I felt in my gut
could be honed in on the bottom of my foot
the dried, cracked skin crammed within knee-high boots
that I think makes my legs look skinny
I don’t flinch at the SUV who overtakes me
pounding on the horn as he speeds fast
as if wanting to scare me
Unrelenting, I slam right back on the horn
not caring if I wasn’t using it for its intent or purpose
but using it for something else entirely
to show the world that even when I know
I’m caught dead wrong
I will always fucking fight back.
This is not the kind of person I want to be
for my son
I don’t want him to grow up knowing
his mom overspeeds on the highway
when she feels trapped or alone
or so full of words and thoughts she’s damn near ready to explode
yet the mouth she’s trained to scream and yell
even in the most hopeless of moments
has been stapled shut
resilience forsaken for the sake of domesticity
compromise and
the killer, self-doubt.
What I hope for you:
that you find a love so beautiful
it never makes you bitter
you’re still a cheerleader, even late into your life
always encouraging, showering happiness
to the newly married,
still saying awww to young lovers holding hands
and never looking away
unashamed to look at love straight in the eye
and fucking beam with happiness
for it.
That you spend many nights with your children
and your partner
eating popcorn in your pjs
all cuddled underneath a fuzzy blanket
at the end of an exhausting day
watching a show or a movie you’re all
equally invested in
shaking each other awake when someone falls asleep
before eventually giving in
And curling up against the other
sleep soundly all together
the drone of the tv and the flashing lights of the screen
make dancing shadows against your closed eyelids
and it makes you feel like
you’re in the middle of
a quiet, soundless
parade.
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