I, Truly, He by Keith Bolen

Once upon a time, used to wear dresses. complain at ballet because the tights were too itchy. tear through books like they were burning. cry because Mom and Dad were the same polarity and couldn’t stick together. be an old soul. be bribed with nail polish to stop putting big blue pompoms in the Class Feeling Jar. be a daughter.

Not long ago abandoned half-sisters in the maws of Mr. Narcissism and Mrs. Neurotic. fought to keep the pride flag up for the wedding. pretended that focus on school was the reason friends were all gone. wasted two months of Mom’s salary and a dip into college funds to get diagnosed for a disorder that wasn’t there. dug two graves in a mental graveyard. stopped being a daughter.

Now, will wear blinders like a horse, induce tunnel visions of college? bottle up anger and sadness again, age it like cheap beer to drink at a house party? quarentine/isolate, till the mask is allowed to come off? claw and rip at unwanted flesh, ache for what’s not there? ask rhetorical questions? become someone in life, like dreams and parents dictated? live long enough to find out?

start being a son?

—Keith Bolen ’23