Why was she D.I.Y.?
Because she wanted to write her own fairy tale. Why did she do it herself - From the decor To her tie dye To her baby shower invitations To her concept of a life narrative for the past several years? At some point She started to do things herself Like taking out the trash Cooking Like paying for gas Like making decisions Until the decisions became so heavy It seemed like a sin Like it wasn’t fair to be DIY in a world like it is today... Yet then they grew from rebellion and faithfulness to the self in all its past forms. Little by little these odd experiences These DIY Could be classy Could be poor and simple Things she made to go with her life To signify how important Individuality And independence Free of any other inspiration Longing to be Of a void and completely irresistible Necessary Defining item for someone else No strings attached This is the spirit Infused in the little actions That occupied her between work And next efforts Kind of like stepping-stones The success of a job done with practice and ease And little by little Though she began to feel like Venus de Milo At times Holding and bearing nothing With no way of fighting or resisting Or even doing anything for herself When things were most gracefully done Then She began to feel It’s almost as though she took no hand in it Merely rode a tide witnessed an event that merely came forth in the light from under the earth as it was set in stone or something like that And so she cast things into it From it And hoped Which was kind of like a prayer without arms Hoped Until all she was Was DIY And longing to be made herself instead And longing to be helped and defined and invested in and spent a little to have a turn in fate Why, she wondered, is there no answer for me? Nothing I can hold onto? Why isn’t there a right and a wrong. Why must I DIY On faith Searching for the bottom like Narcissus Hoping, Waiting. Holding onto hope and holding down superstition Do fairy tales really just happen? Is it possible to take a hand? Years have started passing And wear from my working fingers Little by little The DIY The gifts and items are like a sign of time Thrown to the wind Pieces of dust off a statue of me Built for hope And hoping for a fairy tale. And wearing away into the void, A long way from being made anew, In every way the opposite of what I am -- what holds me together. |
AuthorWe are Kieran and Michelle, two 32-year-old William & Mary grads living in Virginia. Archives
March 2024
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