IRIDESCENT CELLOPHANE
how I became the dream mami: part 5 of 6
32. I’m a lover without a lover.
33. I’m lovely and lonely.
34. I belong deeply to myself.
—Warsan Shire
when I was 20 I painted my childhood bedroom for the first time. it went from hot and light pink bordered by Scooby-Doo wallpaper to a bright turquoise. the ceiling fan had beautiful wood petals so I painted those, too. then I took a thick black sharpie and covered them in my favorite quotes. along the edge of one of the fan petals were these three lines by Warsan Shire. from the moment I read them as a tumblr teen I felt the resonance of self-belonging, how impenetrable that must be, how ultimately secure. at the end of every breakup, I’d pull those words out of my back pocket like the handkerchief of a sweaty farmer who’s been tilling the soil of belonging under the long, hot sun.
to belong to myself, the parts of me attempting to find distorted belonging in others had to die. this series is a funeral for one of those deaths; writing it out to put it truly to rest. I write because I like to have control over my funerals; I need the surgical precision, I need to reclaim the power I left behind from when I died thinking I wasn’t in control. I like to show myself I won’t abandon the parts of me that made decisions to become who I am. I like to see if I’m strong enough to circle back and look the dragon of my own power in the eye.
sometimes I just have to write the pages so I have something to set on fire.