I gather the pieces of glitter with a wooden spoon.
The confetti didn’t land in the right spots, so I have to place each particular piece or else no one will appreciate the beauty.

I place the specks along the decorations with precision… the only word my parents understand from my mouth.

Precision.

Precision.

The eldest child is incredibly familiar with precision.

It’s as if my parents assigned
every dream they wanted,
every prayer they didn’t get,
every day they have wasted…
to me…

I am to carry the weight of the family.
I am to earn the celebrations.

If my younger sister makes it a month without a car accident, confetti guns pop in every direction.
pop / pop / pop

I bake the cake, and I place the sprinkles… glittering and perfect…

Ok, not everything is horrible.
Because even when you’re so focused on how precise each piece of glitter needs to be, you’re still working with glitter.

I mean, it’s glitter! We love glitter!

It’s about the happiest horrible craft supply of all time! It gets everywhere, of course, we all talk about that…

But isn’t that a wonderful act of defiance that no matter how hard we try to be perfect… glitter’s gonna do her own thing… she’ll party wherever she feels like.

She’ll dance. She’ll sing.
She is precisely who she intends to be.
She’s gonna shine.

She’s gonna shine.
Glitter’s gonna shine.

And if this wooden spoon can hold confetti so precisely, then so can I.

The confetti doesn’t land in the right spots,
so I place each particular piece…
and maybe no one will appreciate the beauty.

Each glittery mirror reflects my face.
I can see myself.

She’s gonna shine.
Glitter’s gonna shine.

-"Danielle Fields"