Ordinary

(Taken at my mother’s home in the country. 2024)

What’s wrong with being ordinary?

What’s wrong with driving down the road without stickers plastered on your car?

Whose idea was it that we need to constantly remind everyone who we are?

Or is it to remind ourselves?

Or is it just to consume?

What’s wrong with not knowing?

It’s okay, too, if you have stickers on your car,

If you have too many to count,

If they linger there, memories of who you were,

Or maybe, who you want to be.

It’s okay to not know who you are,

Figuring it out day by day, and some days, not being completely sure.

Who said we are permanent markers bleeding into the wooden floor?

I remember a girl in elementary school who cried once

When a boy marked her up with black ink.

She wept even after the teacher explained that it would eventually wash off.

It made an impression on my still-forming mind,

How fascinating it was that it petrified her,