A walk through memory lane
Food for thought
I am a doll. I am soft, squishy, and cuddly like a doll. I am also the box that the doll comes in. An impregnable fortress of zip ties and cardboard that help protect my vulnerability. I am a doll. No longer judged for my body, but in replacement, my face. My face that has been sewn into one emotion. Neutral, or happy. the happy persona is the one I tend to wear the most. Neutral is just there as a friendly host. Tight, straight-lipped, but eyes so happy. A toy that children leave in the rain. A squishy, no longer cuddly wet mess, tired and drained. But they can never show it. They can never show it. Always smiling and making the same old face.
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More stories from Hannah Mchale and writers in Poets and other communities.
Reality TV Family
If you sat down next to me and asked me what family meant to me, would you want to hear me say that it’s all kittens and rainbows, love and being there for one another? People who always have your back? That would be nice to hear wouldn’t it? Too bad I’m not here to tell you any version like that. My family deserves to be a reality tv show with how fucked up we are. There’s room for everyone.
By Hannah Mchale4 years ago in Families
The Fish Song
The room didn’t smell like disinfectants. Its fragrance seemed light and not overbearing. A soft mixture of lavender and mint permeated the space. No beeping machines or any tubes hooked up to four-year-old Kaleeka. Her cacao skin seemed to glow from the light over her head. The family, save for one and the doctors and nurses exited the room like a trail of saints showing their last vestiges of regard.
By Skyler Saunders7 days ago in Fiction
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