Spiralling Towards Something

15

Them: “So you play hockey, soccer and you row? Wow!”

Me: “Yeah and I’ve been dancing since I was three years old and I sing too.”

Them: “Really? How? Show me…”

16

Them: “I thought you said you were changing, I told you to make yourself decent didn’t I?”

Me: “I did, I brushed my hair and put my favourite dress on, I feel good in this one!”

Them: “Uh, OK, at least put some lipstick on, it looks like your family has another son, just in a dress…”

17

Me: “I have something you can wear, don’t worry we’ll find you something for tonight.”

Them: “No it’s okay I’ll just go through what I have again.”

Me: “Are you sure? I have this dress here, did you want to try it?”

Them: “Oh My God! Who’s is that? It’s beautiful!”

Me: “It’s mine, you can borrow it if you’d like to.”

Them: “Oh, are you sure? Uh, it might me to big.”

18

Them: “My boyfriend keeps acting like such as asshole, he won’t answer my text messages for like 2 hours…”

I haven’t spoken to him in 3 months. I still like him.

Them: “I’m feeling so lonely, he and my Mom talk about things without me, I don’t get football.”

I wish you would listen to me as well...I’m also lonely.

Them: “I spent all night last night crying myself to sleep. I am so glad to have a friend like you.”

Last night I asked myself the question. Would anybody miss me if I were gone?

Me: “Same here.”

Stop Fucking Jumping

To conclusions.

I am not the end or finish to any thought you process. You may not judge me or reach a decision of whom you reason me to be. That is a job for me. And my conclusion is nowhere near, like the sun; 150 million kilometers distant, alike my future, so, so bright.

Stop Fucking Jumping

To presumptions.

I am not a thing that is accepted as true without proof. I do not care for the actions you take responsibility for. I live a life day by day. I don’t take part in a spoof. I am a woman not a thing knocking at your door.

Hello? Have I got your attention yet?

Good.

Stop Fucking Jumping

Over me.

I am not a hurdle or an obstacle in your way.

I am your equal, your competition, of course depending on the day.

I won’t call you a sissy or claim you’re acting like a girl.

That is an insult to a woman all around the world.

Stop. There’s always more to see.

Close your eyes. Here’s my story.

At the age of three I was put into class.

Tutus and hair buns and whole ton of sass.

Four more years passed along, my favourite? Tap.

I could create my own rhythm, yes this was a fact.

A shuffle, a kick and a gallop or two.

It became my first love. I said first, think that through.

Two more years had gone by of stage makeup in June.

Then along came the summer, the only girl on the crew.

I was a badass defence player, letting nobody passed.

The ‘brick wall’ they called me, “See you don’t have to be fast.”

I was twelve years old, in the dressing room. Room nine.

Lacing up the pink laces, “Hurry up it’s almost game time.”

They called me the ‘bruiser’ here mostly because I couldn’t stop.

Seven years went by and it was still my name, although this time I chose not to.

Stop.

Still there? It gets good here.

I was fourteen now. A freshman in High School.

I put my mascara on thick and my kilt, I was cool.

Grade eleven, my first drink, my first party, new years eve.

“Shut up you fat cunt.” Yup, nice words eh? They dug deep.

Prom, what a night. Surrounded by people and more people.

You think that I’d say friends but that would be climbing quite a steep hill.

First university party. “No, I don’t want to hang out with Jake.”

“Why? He wants to kiss you!?” “No, he’s not my type and I don’t want to be fake.”

“You? I’m sorry hunney, you can’t have a ‘type’.

When a guy like Jake wants you, he’s everyone’s type.

You can’t be picky, you aren’t, you’re just not able to be.”

Why?

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