All I’m beginning to feel is pain. My mind is buzzing and throbbing because I’ve shoved it out of sight. My chest aches from a diet of fried foods and breathing toxic conversation. My ears sting from biting criticisms my parents present of: homosexuals, the homeless, drug addicts, hippies, and myself. Ten days trapped, with no escape but my mind. I should have prepared better; brought armor and weapons, but nothing cuts through the opinions of the ignorant. Nothing can expose the lies they’ve fed themselves.
My mother loves “people watching” she says, but only from a safe distance. Far enough to see the grit, but not the despair.
My father is fickle, brooding and American. He can’t look foreigners in the eye and scoffs at language barriers.
Together they make assumptions: drug addict, idiot, fornicators, harlot, thief, terrorist, local, wealthy, foreign. Maybe they’re right to assume the negative; maybe they’re right when they say all the homeless are drug addicts. I hope not, I maintain faith, faith in the beauty of life, in the inherent differences we all possess, not in a God they say, says no to: liars, and *****, and prostitutes, and druggies, and the tattooed, I run, from them and their prayers, and arrogance and conclusions.
Smite me, parents, your darlingdaughter.
I’ve been all of those.
I lie to you, hide my true self, to spare you.
I’ve smoked ***.
I’ve drank underage.
I’ve been a ****.
I’ve been called a *******.
I’ve loved the idea that love is real, whether you’re gay or straight.
You **** my faith, force in your ideals and chain me to a cross you’ve built yourselves of hypocrisy, of hate, of misunderstanding, of fear, of criticism. I struggle to get free. Defend my principles, play “devil’s advocate,” when you know as well as I, I’m not playing. I’ll prove it, be more than you’ll allow, do more than you want.
I’ll find more love than your Christianity-tainted mind can fathom.
I’ll explore the depths of the mind you’ll never know.
I’ll remember the love you made me forget.
I’ll make love to men without a ring on our fingers, and feel no remorse.
I’ll tattoo my body, to show the world the beauty of my mind.
I’ll buy a Koran because I see its beauty.
I’ll attempt to understand others.
I’ll give to the homeless, even if they’re drug addicts.
I’ll love everyone that’s real, because I can. Because it’s more important than God or war or assumptions or generalizations, or patriotism.
You think I’m rebelling?
No. no. no. I’m just living.
copyright 2010 by Lauren E. Dow