The Monster That Is a Child

Clio Turner '23

There is one demon that inhabits all five senses of womanhood. A hissing serpent wound around the farthest stars in our eyes’ galaxy. Spiraling, it sings the words of an impending doom that will eventually define me; the same thing that labels those who've given me life. Even worse than sitting through conversations encouraging dreams of ruffly weddings and lost last names, is hearing about the joys of children I didn’t notice the strength of this song’s grip on my world until one day, breathing and existing became a countdown to what we’ve been told is our collective purpose. By simply living, women are informed that to not bear a child would create a fall on the scale of morality. As if resisting this fate would disrupt beyond the cosmos, creating wrinkles in what was once deemed as beautiful. So she stands in the land of before, holding the power of creation in her right hand, but not the jurisdiction over her own purpose. Sinking further into the mud of the snakes’ theater because failure is entertainment.

I am a woman so therefore, I am a flower. A daisy that needs tending and will eventually stretch to the skies. I am what you see; the peaceful bloom of spring, and the silence of winter. I am here for you. I’m a great listener, or so I’ve been told. As you watch me on this stage, you assume your presence goes unnoticed. But your shadow blocks the sun, the light I need to grow. Time becomes wicked, warped in your stare, slowly killing any of the motivation I had to speak with birds, and airplanes in the sky. If I’m only a plant in the ground, why would you ask me to watch your children. To be a caretaker when I’m still in need of care. The resources of my surroundings should be shaping my strengths, not trapping me as a prisoner to my weaknesses. Why would you water me with this false preparation?

I spoke and I warned you, I am not a good babysitter. Your words are kind but you didn’t wait to think before speaking, as if silence is dangerous. I feel like I have no space for quiet anymore, everyone else’s words fill the empty spaces. I’m starting to believe the world is run by snakes. You’re the one who uprooted my purpose, not listening when I said I wanted to get closer to the burn of the sun. Dreams of touching fire become abstractions that live wildly past the path that’s been drawn over and highlighted for me. Motionless, I thank you for trusting me to care for what is precious to you, as if this interaction is a gift. But I never asked to be given a monster.

I am a woman, so therefore I am evil. I hide in the dark, learning spells that teach me how to be deceitful. My face isn’t real, my nails aren’t real, that picture wasn’t real. My opinions aren’t valid, and those tears have to fake, a pawn in a match of manipulation I never asked to play. As a witch, I must fight the horrors before me of caring for these squishy babies, toddlers covered in snot and germs. I’m disgusted by this interaction, but more than that, I am scared. The future of a child is so malleable, I’m afraid of it melting in my hand. I don’t want to ruin its walk on this Earth, but standing still trapped in confliction, I may already be too late. You call me weak but ask me to be strong. I can’t fight this battle anymore, I’ve seen how its predetermined fate has played out, again and again. Already, the stinging taste of regret fills my eyes. Shame sinks me deeper into this ugly couch you chose to decorate your living room with. By the time you arrive home, I’m overcome with anxiety that I’ll never find my way out of your furniture’s cushions. You let me know that I’ll be a great Mother one day. Thank you, I really appreciate it. I am a curse to children as they become demons of falsehoods, whispering away the doubts of what we all really want: to be our own creators

My purpose was never to contain these monsters, freezing them with ice and leaving them to thaw alone. To hold them captive in the puzzles that contain them. To battle them into becoming their greatest fears. To continue to live in a soundproof garden, gated by a single reality. To remain powerless under your gaze. To never become the truth you're so scared of.

I am a woman, so therefore I am fearless. I exist under the rules of my kingdom, so do not ask me to babysit your children. I am grounded to the depths of the Earth but I am not a prisoner to my roots. In my left hand, I carry the blaze of the sun. A once locked and guarded palace of snakes burns. The ones who chose to find safety in the nostalgia of these excruciating flames, are the same ones who taught me to lie when I’m uncomfortable. So no, I’m not guilty.

Running in the land of after, I’ve become the monster that is a child. Children are people whose mistakes are forgiven and whose futures are bright. But I’m not a toddler or baby, I’m someone who finds happiness in living. I want to exist with conflict and confusion, as opposed to in spite of it. As a child once again, I will hold onto my imagination until it becomes reality.

Ambiguous Jealousy

Clio Turner '23

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