CrAft scIsSORs
poetry by cathryn salis
I wouldn’t call this a breakdown but more of a break out of the confines of society’s beauty standards I worked so hard to squish into to fit into to squeeze into to mold into no matter how you put it I just didn’t fit comfortably. I have privilege I didn’t have to work too hard but as a not-so-woman in this not-so-accepting world “beauty is pain” meant a lot of pain on my end a lot of uncomfortable assumptions dealing with emotions, feelings I didn’t know the names of. Pressure of conformity to a T. The bright light at the end of the tunnel was choice and education. I couldn’t see it for a long time but as soon as I could I ran full-speed towards it and found answers I found my people I found a world without boxes I found labels that fit and stuck I found acceptance north, south, east, west and then I found the hate. I turned around to face where I had come from but I wasn’t accepted back in there were slurs and violence and ignorance and oppression being thrown at me from the most unusual angles “I thought you were my friend!” “I was. Not anymore.”
I learned my name the same way I learned who I am. Someone told me and taught me how to spell it, how to act it. I was handed a nametag and with it, a script The rules to being. I never deviated. Then, I lost my script and forgot all my cues. Why am I dancing right now? My feet hurt. My hair is in my face, I can’t see. I cut my hair with craft scissors and now it’s an uneven mop, barely touching my ears. I don’t recognize myself but I hate myself less I’m no longer performing. The rules are but a faint memory and the only evidence I ever followed them are my tap shoes in the corner of the room.
14 | UNTOLD
