Ethereal Echoes

  I was born a girl. That was the first classification given to me. Before I could form a thought of my own, society had already formed one for me. Biology slowly became biography. As I grew, I was never introduced as a soul, only as a relation. Someone’s daughter. Someone’s sister. Someone’s granddaughter. My existence seemed to function as an extension of others. I was not seen as an origin, but as a connection. School did not ask who I was either. It described me instead. The brown girl. The overweight one. The quiet one with long hair. My body became a definition. My appearance became a language people used to understand me. No one asked what dreams lived inside me. In college, my identity shifted again. I was known by where I came from, what I wore, and who I spent time with. I was judged by my background and my clothes. Society rarely sees the individual first. It sees context. Work replaced my name with a designation. My value became measurable and productive. I was evaluate...

  I have felt the poison of love for the first - and the - last time!! Love is a vine when it is shared. It grows around two hearts, holds gently, keeps them alive. But sometimes love turns poisonous when it is carried alone. It haunts every corner of the soul when it has nowhere to go. The heart aches without rest. The soul cries in a language no one hears. The body reacts before the mind understands. Eyes grow heavy. Blood turns cold. The mirror is forgotten. Still, my body remembers the bitterness, as if it has grown addicted to you. I think of you becoming someone else’s. You loving her. Holding her hand. Losing yourself in her eyes. Touching her skin as if it were always meant for you. STOP!!!, my soul cries, but longing does not stop when asked. I never invited you. You drifted in unannounced, rested on my tongue, and stayed. Now you are taken away, yet I still crave you. I still taste that strange, lingering presence of you that refuses to disappear. So let this poison remai...