Mom,
my heart has never hurt like this before. i've never felt like love was conditional. before.
we were so much simpler when i believed in god and refused to acknowledge sex and doubt and origami birds that couldn't fly.
i woke up this morning and cried tears that smelled like dill weed because i dreamed of the time we made pickles when i was young. my skin still feels like fevers and i'm so starved for your approval that my ribcage and hipbones are visible through my clothes.
last night i crawled into my closet and curled up there because the darkness was the only thing that would cradle me in its arms. i held my temples in my brittle fingertips because i couldn't watch my body tear in two anymore.
my cheekbones are throbbing and worn, but i just can't stop the streams. the questions in my head are building more pressure than my skull can stand and i'm starting to wonder if i'll feel relieved if i crack.
why was i your rock? why do i have to feel so guilty for growing up?
why, after a thousand conversations about how i'm not my sister, do i feel like you expect me to do what she does? to be what she is? to believe what she believes?
why can i only run to the family that doesn't know me?
why do you cry to know who i really am?
i went swimming yesterday and realized i love the smell of chlorine,
because, for a moment, i didn't smell pickles.
Court.
Author notes
I don't know if it means anything to anyone else, but I cried through the entire thing.
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