White dress frosted with lace weeping threads
hem worn from wandering
white marble halls cold as snow
sunsets blood-red, rose-red
& nights raven-black.

I tried growing my hair long
as towers, long as history
long as these empty, empty, halls.

Oils & braiding & fancy shampoos
never worked, left my hair brittle
& only just past my shoulders
years and years on.

I stopped trying to fit that fairy tale.

I thought I’d grow apples & roses
coat fields in flowers & fruit
that I’d bake into pies and press into cider
to warm me each winter next.

But I go tired of farming
my hands chapped & back aching
& when the first grey snuck into my dark brown
— never black, never luscious — hair
I put my seeds away.

One winter I thought I’d sleep
the seasons away, pad my face with mud masks
& stop each wrinkle before it formed
I was too late, of course, the wrinkles began
in my twenties, and continue spreading
like frost.

I don’t sleep well at the best f times
rising to wander in moonlight
& snack in the kitchen when the mice
are sleep.

So no — I decided that the story wasn’t for me.

I never learned to swim, so the pond
stays isolated. Its merfolk & frogs
unkissed, undanced. Under the willows:
only wind.

I thought finally about reading —
how else can I travel without cramming my feet
into too-tight hoes
meant only for parties?

I filled my pockets with snack & retired to the library
only to find that most of the books
are quite boring, not for me
& the cord for the kindle is terribly shorts
& the chairs not as comfortable as they looked
from afar

So no. I am not fair
or smart
or lovesick
or distressed
or waiting for someone
to tell me who I’ll be.

I know:
I dread gardening
I loathe cleaning
I hate socializing.

I know:
I can’t swim
can’t cook
can’t sleep well at all.

I know there are some books I love
but most I don’t.
Some night I am light
but most I am heavy.

I know all these things about myself
& in finding out each
I lived.

I tried it all, & I’ve decided
I like myself best. I like wandering in the night
& letting my tea grow cold.
I like dozing on the couch
& dyeing my hair.
I like myself — a lot —
& I don’t mind if I change
& grow old.

Because I know that each year I try
something I likely won’t like at all
I’m knowing myself more.

& I’m loving that self
better than all the ones I knew
before.