Saturated Transitions

My Ohio is made

Of Mashed potatoes and Wednesday spaghetti

Hot summers and weekend sledding

Refried beans and movie binging

Family vacations

Bonding in simplicity

Pool parties and underage drinking

Teenage duplicity

Unexpected pains

Life in film

Smiling for the camera.

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When I was 7 years old, I ran away.

I was missing for years

In my dream land

Under my mom’s warm covers

Police and Missing Person reports were assembled

While I played under the covers

A defiant act of exploration

My own personal Narnia.

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Lawn mower

Father and daughter

We were close once

Plot twist

Broken chairs and cracked walls

It’s been almost two years now.

Confused graduation tears.

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Pleasure in power.

Found in my pain.

Didn’t know you didn’t want it.

In the name of L. O. V.E

Healing is a journey

Much like identity

Finding a way to get….home.

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Why did you get married so young?…………

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My New York is made

Of possibilities and fear

A simultaneous dance

Being our Best selves

My New York is made

Of eternal sunrises

Limonata and new beginnings

Jokes of years in the making

Life in saturation

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When I came to New York, I had to start over. Looking back, I don’t recognize the person I was before; the weakness in my bones, the shallow quality of my smile. The memories are mine, but they’re unfamiliar, distant. Clouded by falsities and depression. I wasn’t born in another country, but sometimes it feels like it. Ohio is a different world. My hometown was 90% white….My dad (was) pretty racist — he is trying to see the wrong in this. I grew up in that film. Looking back, it was clear I wasn’t to make friends with anyone who wasn’t white. I attempted dating two men of color when I was a kid. (names have been changed for privacy reasons), Jorge, who was Puerto Rican; and Tom, who was Black. My dad was very clearly unhappy with this — -monitored my phone, made sure I came straight home from work and school, threatened and insulted me (and my mom) until I agreed to break up with them. Jorge and I tried it for 8 months, but he got sick of it. Who wouldn’t? Tom, well…. I couldn’t tell Tom. Looking back, the only reason I knew the word “nigger” existed was because it came out of his mouth. He called me a “white trash wigger” several times, I wasn’t allowed to go anywhere or do anything until I dumped him…and my dad had a temper. He liked to throw things, push things and people into walls…. I couldn’t tell Tom that….how could I tell him that? I was 14 and we’d been dating for 2 weeks… So I loosely gossiped about “not really feelin’ it” to some of our friends and he broke up with me in front of everyone in the hallway, called me a “stupid bitch.”

I’m nervous about my dad meeting my partner’s parents, but they reassure me they’ll be okay. They’ve handled worse. It’s been 11 years since then, went 2 with no contact. I hope people change…..I want a nice wedding.