- all that glitters is gold, right? what about when there’s no one there to see it? then what’s it worth?
- so what do you do when the lights dim and the only thing left is a body you don’t recognize?
- at the afterparty, my name is known and there’s a hand in my hand and respect in the air. where does that go when i decide to take the cab home by myself? are you supposed to respond to “bitch” like it’s a nickname?
- what comes first, the chicken or the egg, the gig or the ultimatum?
- i see the glass ceiling is 25 feet taller than we can all reach. do i hold my hands out like the bottom of a human ladder? or do i climb shoulders just to get a little closer?
- does silence or screaming make more noise?
- the ones that call themselves the gatekeepers—the ones who ask for a password upon entry that i can’t get myself to speak—there’s a way around them, isn’t there?
- when does a grin become an obligation?
- would they know who i was without the pictures?
i’m not good at mirroring.
and i’m too good at confrontation.
and i don’t want to not know if i want eyes on me at all times.
- but don’t i need eyes on me at all times?
- who’s going to tell me when i make it? or do i get to decide that for myself?
i want to recognize my body.
i want to remember what my body is without itself.
i want to know gold without having to drink it like it’s a ritual.
to the game, with love,
- i want to remember my name.