Swingset
Freedom. Red white and blue. Right? America?
That’s not what I think of. I think of swingset.
Swingset is freedom to me. I can feel it now, feel the wind rush through my messy hair and bare feet, wild and pure. Up up up I go, into the azure sky. For a moment I hang in midair, heaven, no thoughts, only swingset. And wooooosh! I plummet back down. Pump my legs harder, always reaching for that moment of ecstasy and exhilaration.
Back before final exams, inflation, politics. I can still swingset, though, and if I pump hard enough and go high enough, I can forget about it all.
The playground bars are red, the wandering clouds are white, and the big sky is blue blue blue. Swingset is true freedom to me.
She Lived in the Clouds
O, girl of the sky, please come down. You see the Earth in the big picture, like some deity watching over their planet with concern. You aren’t a deity. You are just a girl. And you have dishes to do.
Girl of outer space, why do you care so much about what others think? Your body is a mortal shell down on Earth, yet you slam it under a microscope and dissect every little thing.
Girl who dreams in the third person, life is just life. Don’t overthink it, but don’t overthink not overthinking it. Oh no, here we go again. Now you are drifting away, please come back down, Cloud Girl.
Girl who’s body and mind don’t agree, it’s alright. It is strange, I know. Watch your hand flex… other people can see that? Another brain, can see that? And your words, your words actually have power! They aren’t just meaningless sounds. It is strange, I know. “It’s like you are looking down from the sky up above, never in the moment. Never giving enough.” That’s a song lyric, I stole it to show you that other people feel this way too. You are giving enough. It’s alright.
O, girl who lives in the clouds, sometimes, it’s okay to not want to come down. You are safe for now, in your vast world of thoughts.
The Bodybuilder
See them on the street, the ones that have stories and pasts that make you shudder, grimace, cringe. Oh not again, stop with the signs already. It’s too heavy for me. Every day is heavier, as I look over headlines and see.
Girls who cannot go to school, who are forced to cover all of their body, who have children as children. I, I will not disappoint them. I, I will get educated, and marry when I choose, and never. Ever. Forget them. I add another weight.
Kids who provide for their family, they cannot afford to worry about all of the things I worry about. I think about philosophy and swingset and highschool, while they think about survival. I add another weight.
People who do not have friends or family, who do not know if anyone would attend their funeral. So they think, what does it matter, if they take the pills or jump the cliff or hang the rope? I add another weight.
Guilt is the heaviest thing ever. Do you see me now, at the bottom of the ocean, trapped and drowning by it? Every year though, I puuuuuuush the guilt off of me, inch by inch. Some day, I will float to the top. Only then will I be able to dive back down, and help pull up others. I cannot fix the whole world, not at all. But I can look at my own life, and smile.
What do I know, though? I’m just me, dramatic, shallow, obnoxious, naive. These are the musings of a teenage girl, as she peers out of a car window, watching the Midwest blur by.