a summary.

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this post was inspired by solange’s 30th birthday instagram post. 

at two years old, i stopped breathing and was rushed to the er.

at four, my lungs learned how to function. i stuck a lego piece in my ear and got sent back to the er.

at five, i wore a poofy pink dress for my party and took one of the last pictures with my parents happy together.

at six, joint custody child become my unofficial suffix.

at nine, my dreams of becoming a tennis prodigy began & promptly ended.

at eleven, i started my first journal and wrote bad poetry.

at twelve, i had journals filled with fashion design sketches. the whole class followed a young trendsetting moose and did the same.

at thirteen, my chest blossomed and boys started hugging me to cop a feel.

at fifteen, i officially accepted the title of introvert.

at sixteen, my best friend became my best friend.

at nineteen, i found myself in toni morrison.

at twenty-one, i moved to another city and began the process of unraveling myself.

at twenty-two, i am scrolling down solange’s instagram page, mentally placing myself in all beautiful images of new orleans scenery. i feel incomplete, unaccomplished, inadequate. i am resenting this waiting stage i am in because i am unaware of what exactly i am waiting for. winning the lottery? the apocalypse? death? i am mostly hot and exhausted and waiting for the energy that used to carry me to realize herself again and pick me up out of this funk.

 

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