Looking Closely

Have you ever looked closely at a flower petal? I have. And this is what I wrote about it.

The petal of a flower

easy to devour

Nourishment for the parasites.

Shaped like my heart
smoothly sliced apart

by careless or cruel hands.

Gentle on your lips

Passionate like your kiss

deep dark

and red.

Complicated beauty

understood simply

Exposed but unafraid

on your bed.

Veins

red and thick

with secrets

flowing in blood

too precious

to spill.

Until

You

My blood friend

I'll prick my finger's

end.

Image from FreeDigitalPhotos.net

Homemade Muppets, Best Friends, and Cocaine

My niece is in sixth grade. Last night I fell asleep trying to remember what is was like and who I was when I was in sixth grade. I started sixth grade with the group of kids I had grown up with since Kindergarten. But when my mom got hired in another city, we moved. I don't remember who my teacher was or what I learned. I only remember homemade muppets, my best friend, and a boy named Paul Cocaine.

We made the muppets (felt puppets) for a class project. The teacher assigned partners and mine was a boy named Tino. I didn't want to be partners with Tino. He was a boy?! But once the glue and yarn were placed before us things started looking up. Tino was mischevious and made me laugh. It was the most fun I'd ever had with a school project.

By the end of the year, one of the girls at my new school would become my new best friend. I hadn't had a best friend since first grade.

On one of the first days at my new school it started to rain at lunch time. We were told we would be eating in the classroom and that the yard duty lady would be checking in on us. A group of girls pushed their desks together and invited me to join them. I was having such a good time! Then a boy with blonde hair starting talking smack. I wanted to smack talk back but the group of girls I was with decided we would ignore him instead. I asked the group who the boy was and they said his name was Paul Cocaine. Seriously?! Then he started spitting food at us. Always tiny and fiesty, I decided it was time to take control. I told him to stop and the smack talking showdown began. We ended up standing up, facing each other. I said something he couldn't think of a comeback for so he pushed me so hard my back slammed against the chalkboard. I didn't have too much time to think about the pain from the chalkboard tray. Suddenly in slo-mo, his arm lifted, fist in the air, aimed at my face, approaching. My big sister reflexes activated, I used both of my hands to block his fist while my right foot slid across both of his legs beneath the knee sending him crashing to the ground and landing on his butt! Silence. Then a classroom of kids laughing at him. He stood up in a rage. Thankfully the yard duty lady had waddled in. We were both sent to the principal's office. By the end of the year, Paul had developed a baffling, albeit sweet, crush on me.

So who was I in sixth grade? I was a girl who had learned not to take life too seriously. To laugh in the midst of striving for accomplishments and success. I was a girl who learned life was so much sweeter when you had good friends to share it with. I was a girl who would not be intimidated into silence. I was someone who was willing to fight and defend. I was a girl who could earn respect just by being true to myself. I was, I am, me.