Strings

photo by arantxa villa

strings 

third year hannah george 

I used to look at my real world reflection and see a puppet, hanging by thick strings, turned and lifted by people she loved and people she didn’t really know.

I looked at the way my soft shoulders rounded forward and, thinking of those who moved me,

I forced them up straight and square. I looked at them and 

After reminding myself for the 20th time that day that they weren’t bony enough to even attempt to look fragile and poised

They rounded back forward and became soft and warm again.

I spent hours each day putting myself in people’s shoes 

Wondering how I ought to be perceived by someone so beautiful or so powerful

 And if I could ever be adored by them

Thinking of what they probably said when I walked by with my eyes fixated on the ground

Hair half done, half of what it really could’ve been

Or when I laughed too deeply that particular time, unfeminine and unwoman.

The way I figured they saw me as alien because of what set me apart from every straight head of hair and every soprano note sung.

I wanted to trade my body, my blackness, and my old soul

For a split second of being like them.

Then before I knew it I had to stand in front of the mirror for weeks

That turned to months and years and still from the mirror I did not move.

All the while the strings of the master manipulators had faded; disappeared

And I was left to lift my own feet and lift my own head,

I swore at the mirror and cursed at it for being the enemy I couldn’t escape

For weeks and months and years.

After some time the mirror became my companion,

My inspiration to take control of what I said and how I reacted to things 

With the mirror I danced and laughed at the way I can hardly point my toes anymore

I watched tears trickle down from red glassy eyes

And thought I had never looked so beautiful in my entire life.

I look at my real world reflection and accept who she is

I reassure her that the faces she will pass will accept her too

No matter how she smiles or walks or laughs

And that her warm soft shoulders can rest

And come forward without a thought in mind.