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gods and goddesses
oversized sweatshirts
my friends


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insta & wattpad: yet_another_weirdo
the prose: weirdo

"why am i not kissing a pretty girl rn this is homophobic smh” -me

let me fly~a short memoir (excerpt)

August 26, 2019


i was born on the night of a full moon. my mother always told me that was a good sign. she thought it was god's way of telling us that i would live a full life. 
but, i think i would prefer a crescent moon. wouldn’t it be reassuring to know that the moon was smiling on the day of your birth?
susan showed me a new constellation. it was a rose. i had never seen it before.
“looking at the famous constellations is fun,” susan stared into her telescope, “but i like to find my own.”
in the middle of the night, i heard the front door open and close. i slipped out of bed and peeked out my window.
my mother was outside, running and clutching a handbag. she wouldn’t be back until late next day. there must’ve been an emergency at the hospital. 
maybe my mother isn’t always home in the morning. but, she’s there for other people who really need it. and it sucks for me but i won’t complain. after all, i’m not lying on my death bed.
it rained today. which is odd because it almost never rains during spring around these parts. it was a nice surprise when i woke up in the morning though. i was expecting sunburn and got mud puddles instead. 
my mother told me that i am an angel without wings. i find that very sad. isn’t the most exciting part of being an angel flying back and forth from the heavens and the mortal world?
today, i woke up with slobber on my face and lily on my leg. michael must have forgotten to close the back door. again. 
“silly puppy,” i said as i scratched her behind her ear. 
i smiled. i couldn’t help but grin at the fact that she chose my bed out of the five in the house.
grandfather came for a visit today. he lifted me up in his arms.
all was right in the world. 
uncle joe took me to the theatre today. he didn’t bring susan or michael. i wondered why but decided not to ask. 
i’m not sure what the play was about. it consisted of a lot of words that i didn’t know the meaning of. and words that i shouldn’t even be hearing. but, i didn’t care much about play itself. 
there was this lady. this lady that wore a beautiful dress. it looked as though it was made from a thinned cloud. 
“uncle joe!” i exclaimed as i shook his arm. 
he shushed me.
“sorry,” i whispered, “uncle joe?”
“is she an angel?” 
he smiled. “i suppose so.”
i caught michael in the kitchen today. he was making a cake.
“tell mother or father and you might not wake up in the morning,” he said sternly. 
“why don’t you want them to know?” i asked.
“because,” he gave me a spoon covered in batter, “baking is a wife’s job.”
i closed my eyes and licked the spoon. absolutely delicious.
“you’d make an excellent wife, michael,” i giggled. 
he hit me with a whisk. 
when the cake was done, we each ate a slice then fed the rest to the river before our parents got home. 
this morning, i begged father to let me go to the repair shop with him. it’s spring break and i never have anything to do besides sitting around with my own thoughts. father doesn’t like it when i beg. when i beg, i always ran the risk of being spanked with a spatula. but, father was too tired to argue and i hid the spatula the night before so he let me go. 
i watched with amazement as father disappeared underneath the cars and worked his magic on them. it wasn’t necessarily exciting but was definitely an interesting thing to watch someone do. i observed for about an hour, walking around and looking at all the different cars he fixed, before i spilled oil on myself and he sent michael to take me home. 

grandfather came for a visit today. i reached out my arms for him to lift me up. 
“i can’t, sweetie,” he smiled sadly, “my back is getting bad.”
the world didn’t feel right. 
mother told me not to go outside. usually, i listen to her when she tells me to do something. disobedient children are useless, so i’ve been told. but, something didn’t feel right. mother’s face was grim and she looked as though she had seen death. so, when she left for her room, i opened the front door ever so slightly. 
lily was dead. her fur was matted and covered with blood. father picked her up and threw her in the back of our truck. 
i asked michael about it and he said it was most likely a wolf. that must’ve been why lily always snuck inside. she was terrified. 
your first experience with the grim reaper is always the most shocking.

at school, i wrote a poem. the teacher loved it so much that she read it to the class and hung it on the wall.
maybe i’m meant to be a poet. michael can mix ingredients to make cake. susan can connect stars to make constellations. and i can string words to create poetry.
father took me to the pet store to get a new dog. i found a german shepherd that looked just like lily when she was a puppy. i named her daisy. yet another beautiful flower. 
today is my eleventh birthday. mother and father each gave me the gift of a kiss on the cheek and a joyful “happy birthday”. it didn’t cost them anything and made me feel loved. they both went to their jobs after that. 
michael made me a cake while they were gone. 
“we need to eat the whole thing before they come back,” he instructed susan and i.
and we did.
grandfather died today. a heart attack, the doctors said. mother’s heartbroken. 
it is now that i realized why the world doesn’t feel right. i had always been an angel without wings. but, with grandfather, i could fly in my own way. and now i’m stuck on the ground.
in the middle of the night, i awoke to mother frantically yelling for me from downstairs.
“angel! angel?! oh my god, angel?!”
i jumped out of bed and ran downstairs. i found her pacing back and forth in the living room. 
“mother?” i walked up to her. 
she saw me and smiled. 
“thank goodness,” she sighed.
“what’s wrong, mother?”
“nothing. just go back to bed.”
i obeyed.
i’ve written quite a lot of poems lately. it helps me ignore time. i can write poetry for hours and only stop when mother calls me for dinner. 
maybe writers do their best when the world around them is crumbling. 
father doesn’t like it when people cry. so, i try not to, as does everyone else in the house. because of this custom in our house, i was taken by surprise when i saw mother crying in her room and father comforting her
today was the day of the funeral. i saw many familiar and unfamiliar faces at the funeral home. one of the unfamiliar faces was that of the priest. it felt so odd. how could a man who barely knew grandfather be the one to do the most talking on the day we say goodbye?


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  • ThePaperSamurai

    Oh my gosh! This is so moving, I might have teared up at the end... just.... wow.

    5 months ago
  • ♛DaBolo♛

    I just wanted to send you this.

    Its inspired by you and me. (You'll see)

    5 months ago