by Misti Rainwater-Lites
Write me and tell me I am fierce with reality I am star strong and night deep and I don’t have to keep all these books and lipsticks and ironic t-shirts to be interesting. Write me and tell me I am so pretty in the eye so sweet in the song you will love these pieces of me until the day you die although decades last longer than they used to. Write me and tell me I am not in prison. Write me and tell me I am not dead. Write me and tell me I am still five I am still twelve I am still sixteen and it’s okay to spend Saturday night alone with the jukebox tears sliding down my arms. Write me and tell me those nights alone with my purple Love is Now book have come to fruition and there is an orchard and we are walking in it and the world beyond the trees has melted in shame knowing it is no match for our holy light. Write me and tell me there are still funny cartoons subtle not skillet over the head blatant and friendship is the focus as corny as that sounds. Write me and tell me my daddy did take me fishing at least once and he did love me and he did hold me and we did dance at a father daughter banquet I just don’t remember. Write me and tell me my daddy is dead and alive inside me and the spankings and insults are imaginary monsters beneath the bed and I can wake up now and walk out of the room and get my own drink of water and go outside and watch the fireworks and sing to the moon until it drops into Miller Creek, I am allowed. Write me and tell me I don’t have to perform I can put away the mic and the tap shoes and the sequins and the tiara. Write me and tell me you love me plain and kind of dirty beneath the bleachers during pep rally.
I was crying when I was eight because I wore an eyelet dress and too much makeup and a banner and a tiara and the trophy was heavy as I stood posing for photographers while my baby sister played catch with my favorite cousin. Write me and tell me I can play now, too.