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Iris Nov 2020
Demode
Dodo

Dorothy doesn’t talk to me much about her feelings, she’s either happy as an elephant or angry like a needle being forced through skin. Dorothy doesn’t go by Dorothy. She was Dodo to everyone but her aunt who didn’t know who she was. Dorothy lived across the road in her sizable yellow house, with way too many windows, mum says. Her mother is a big business owner working in the man's world. Dodo’s father is her mother, we joke, always doing a woman's work. Dorothy has a little sister Iris. She looks like Dodo, but Iris doesn’t have the same bruises on her face as Dodo does.
Iris must be quiet.
Mum does not want me hanging out with Dorothy, she says, she doesn’t act like a lady. Dodo never crosses her legs, but why would she do that? She doesn’t even wear skirts. She doesn’t finish chewing before her words and spits of food fall out. Dorothy does what she wants. Iris doesn’t do that. Men remind Iris that she's a beautiful young lady as we walk down town. Dodo flips them off.
Iris is quiet
I don’t sit with Dorothy at school. She sits with the boys, and I’m not allowed to. Dorothy fits in with the boys. She has a voice of a lion roaring through the cafeteria. Iris sits with me instead but we don’t talk. We stay quiet. Dodo laughs too much, the girl with red ribbons in her hair says. Dodo is just asking for it, responds to the girl with blue barretts. She’s gonna get hurt if she doesn't shush her loudmouth red ribbons says. Dorothy doesn’t care what girls with ribbons think. Iris does.
Iris stays quiet
Sometimes I wish I was more like Dorothy. I could tell mum to mind her own business and to let me get my ears pierced. I’m old enough to face the needle. Dorothy likes her big hoops, but I would rather have studs like Iris.
Those are quiet
Dorothy is a bad liar. I know she didn’t fall and hit her head on the table. The yellow house with too many windows tells me Dorothy’s mum hurt her. No one does anything because we don’t know what to do with women who work in a man's world.
We all stay quiet.
House on Mango Street Sandra Cisneros inspired Vignette, Literary foundations freshman year
A life is meaningful
whether or not it has meaning
But does it really have an effect,
Or are our weapons just competing
With bows or barretts to carry on your tour
These days life is easy to live
Living is easy to enjoy
We send our thoughts across connections that used to be torn
But now you type in dotcom and you can get free ****
you could give money to a kid with leukemia to help his family mourn
you could find that perfect gift for your mom
If you take the time you can home make bombs
All found on BuyItDotCom
But back in BC you just had your bow
you might be able to eat, you never knew for sure
there wasn't a world to see
you were living in yours
and if you ever got sick, you better be ready die off and pass on quick

Nowadays it would never even click how some people died without knowing other *****
You could go out on your own and ditch the passers-by
And never feel bad because they have a car
Its harder to die, we have penicillin
Its easier to live ever since we got better at killing
And everyone's better at killing
Because now online anyone can take the time to make a bomb and cross the world in their car to hand deliver a nasty scar to people's lives and humanity
Was there ever a day when childhood could bloom?
Overalls, converse and a dewy abandoned lot
I wished to be a free child, wild and with whimsy
The sun just below the horizon
the friendliness of darkness pouring in gently
hair that's escaped the braids that couldn't contain it
and the brownness of the earth on my palms
I dreamt of this childhood as I sat mercilessly through church
Contained, silenced and controlled
There was no childhood for me
No freedom, space or whimsy
I never greeted the evening or the friendly dark
and my hair was always bound by rubber bands and barretts
the palms of my hands carried no traces of brown except that of my own skin
And church was simply a prison and my soul began its longing
for the day when childhood could bloom

— The End —