My love claims to be a spiritual women
who chants mantras, listens to John Lennon.
But she can't resist the call,
of yoga pants in every mall,
materialistic manifestations, damn you Lululemon!
About the Creator
mokradi_
Pari (he/they)
A BIPOC settler in Coast Salish Territories of so-called 'Canada'.
On the road to reconciling the worlds within while reclaiming my journey, one story at a time.
#multiculturalstories
#transgenerationalmemories
Clinging to Childhood
The playground is empty, as it should be past sundown. There is a warm breeze, and I can see everything despite the late hour. What time is it, anyway? It could very well be past midnight. I can never keep track of time, especially in the summer. A prickly piece of popcorn hides like a stowaway in the left cup of my padded training bra. I stuffed the tissue in last minute— a decision I’m beginning to regret, based on the events that are unfolding rapidly before me. To my left, laying non-chalantly on his back, is my date for the evening. He is two years older, could probably grow facial hair if he wanted to, and drives a secondhand Honda. He may as well be a Man. I, on the other hand, feel like a fraud with my too-short short-shorts, sparkly lip gloss, and makeshift push-up bra. I keep my arms pinned to my sides as I feel the dreaded circles of sweat beginning to manifest on my brand new Abercrombie top. I cup my elbows with my hands and stare down at my hint of cleavage, praying that the tissue doesn’t pop out like a white flag surrendouring my lack of womanhood.
By Marti Maley6 days ago in Fiction
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