Your mother and you have arrived, you sit on the sofa belonging to your stepfathers aunt
You know the names of everyone in the room, but they do not know you
The men ignore you, the ladies ignore you, except to tell you they like what you’ve done with your hair
Your mother is glued to your side, sitting as close to you as she possibly can
You go down stairs with the little kids even though you are old enough to have conceived one of your own
At least you would think that they would accept you as their own but no they have picked up the cues from their parents who didn’t realize they were giving
What a joy it is living in such a small, small  town
Expensive couch pillows stuffed with down
And then before you know it the food is done, the real reason your mother insisted you go
Not to listen to small-minded chatter or to watch the ladies show off their new babies and the ever present football game on tv screen that is a necessity
Now it is time to say grace, you stand in the same spot you have stood  in every year copying what your mother does, wondering if anyone here ever thinks about jesus at this time
You would think that the floorboards would have sunk for every time you have stood in this spot but no the floorboards gleam the scene is pristine the turkey shines
The food they remind you took money and time infused with just a hint of lime
Whether you like it or not this is family
You have to love your family
Even if they don’t know your here, your uncle is filled with beer
Even though you spend the entire rest of the day alone and down
This is your family in your small small town

These are the years of skinny jeans and sadness
Of black eyeliner and blackouts
Surviving high school high on hunger
The only way to cure an anorexic is realization
Realization that maybe those five strawberries you’re eating for breakfast, lunch and dinner weren't  as healthy as they were before you started counting them as calories
Realization that maybe you shouldn’t have binged everything in the house then threw up
Realization that maybe you should just burn your diet journal with the rest of your habits
Becoming anorexic will give you a new vocabulary, with words such as binge, purge and thinspiration
Your mind will become a calculator counting every calorie as a new way to punish yourself for being a size six
Let me tell you there is nothing wrong with your body, but there is something wrong with your mind
Even when you reach your goal it will not be enough until you are a size smaller
Until you can see your ribs
Until bones is all that's left of you
Until your dead

My mother thinks my father killed himself
He was crushed to death
I don’t know how
I was never told
But I’ve come to understand that his death might not have been accidental
According to my mother
He had a few mere seconds of unbearable pain before he passed
At the funeral while my family mourned
I wondered how anyone could look so lifeless and feel so cold
I was four
He looked like he was in a soundless slumber
Having the most pleasant peaceful dream
After the funeral
A blonde haired women glared at me as I started to cry
I never knew her name
Years later I would only know my father by his old t-shirts my mother would wear to bed
As my mother spun out of control
I spun on the merry-go round wondering why life was so cold
As I spun, empty and motionless
Six year old me would see a father pushing his girls on the swing set
Only I would find that unbearable to see
A year later, when I am seven a new father comes along
He is nice, at first
three months later
He is your stepfather
The only one you could ever remember
The one you wish you could forget
Years later you’ll keep his secrets
And he’ll tell all yours
My mother thinks my father killed himself
Sometimes you’ll wish he didn’t

My sister held on to me
Like she was afraid to let go
I told her about my past
About what I didn’t want anyone to know
I told my suffering to my savior
And she held me tight
And told me she would take care of it
Tonight I cried
Because a little part of me died
When I told
What no one should ever know
Now no one can tell me
That I didn’t scream loud enough
That I didn’t cry hard enough
That it didn’t happen
Because my sister is here and she’s taking care of it
These are my secrets

To be women is to be delicate
Swooning over silence
Quiet, lips zipped
Soft, demure
To be women is to ask no questions
To know every answer
To be obedient
Not to be scolded to know our place
To be women is to be delicate
To be male is to be strong
Never cracking under pressure
Brave, outspoken
Loud, tough
To be male is to be her hero
Even when you don’t deserve to be
To know every question before it is asked
To be male is to be strong

We were friends
From the day we first met to this moment
We had miles of hurt behind us
And an empty road of beginnings in front
I was the steadfast one
The loyal and cautious
You were the wild one
Crazy and spellbound
Both of us recoiling from the pain we caused each other
We made eye contact
You looked ,I looked
For a brief moment
It was like things were the same again

My mother smells like vanilla
Every time I pass her through the house I catch a whiff
My Mother’s perfume used to be a comforting smell
It would always remind me of ice cream and swaddled new born babies
My mother is a nurse, so she knows how to take care of people
But not how to protect people
Or believe
Imagine
My mother used to be an artist
Aged canvass
The smell of paint in the air
The third generation of women
On her mothers side
She used to have fun
She used to love me
And care if I was sick
If someone had hurt me
When my father died
She told me she was now my mother and my father
But she was never around
My mother said she had a dream
That my sister and I were babies again
And she had one of us on each arm
At least I know she still thinks of us
Even if it’s to only wish we were still dependent on her
She didn’t protect me
She didn’t believe me
Sometimes I think she doesn’t even love me