by Vann Rose
When I was born, I was cut from my mother’s womb, like a bullet that had worn its welcome in the thigh of a once young soldier.
Swaddled in a mixture of fraud and deceit, Mother held me to her breast, inches away from the warmth that was her womb; the force of the world’s cold touch riddled my pristine skin.
Even then I did not cry.
Soon came the games of house, to see which relative could mold me into the bright young woman I was destined to be.
I’m ever-thankful my mother always held intellect over beauty.
My formative years were consumed with questions of my proclivity for things considered masculine.
But children do not know the science of sight and color, or why the wavelengths we perceive seem to decide what colors our bedrooms must be painted, based on genitalia we had no choice in.
Children are brought up thinking that adults are the epitome of knowledge, so they do not question these pseudo-scientific theories until the paint has long since dried.
It is not until we gain the freedom to individualize our own spaces that we realize that our room was never the right color.
We spend our hard-earned allowance on new paint, and decor, only to take our treasures home to find out there is “some assembly required.”
We wonder how we can construct something new if we cannot understand the directions to put ourselves together.
When we first make the discovery that there are pieces missing from the package, we wonder how a book stand could so easily remind us of our own circumstances.
As we search for answers to these two separate constructions, we learn of parts that do not ever come as they should.
Bent, broken, used, shattered, or just not present at all.
Blissfully unaware of our lack of materials, those around us gives halfhearted advice that we should make the pieces ourselves, or else just forget we ever began building.
Many will end their journey right there, forgetting what it was to create- or realize their true potential.
Others are looked upon as oddities for their passion to realize completion.
And still there are many like me.
Who wonder day by day how to bring into existence something that should have never been thought up to begin with.