“Reasons Why We Leave”
Underwear.
That’s all I needed as a kid.
Underwear to bed
Underwear outside
And
(like a good superhero)
Underwear on my head.
As I got older I had to adopt my parent’s reasons to not being a “nudie”.
I learned:
It was unacceptable to:
roam in my underwear when company was over (Dad)
See another person in their own (Mom)
think about thinking about another person in their underwear. (Mom)
Or
Use my underwear as a sling. (Neighbor)
(and I learned this all, by the age of 9).
And
These rules complicated me.
I felt lied too.
My parents told me I could be or do anything
And I wanted to be a “nudie”
But they wouldn’t allow.
So at 18
(after many battles and arguments dealing with my nudie-ness)
I moved out.
(to be a nudie).
I write in my underwear, free to dance the words across the band of my Hanes boxer-briefs
Onto the paper on which I scribble.
I want them to dance like the child they long to appreciate, but sing for the adult that settled
This apartment, words, is for us to protest in- to fly, fight, or fuck in, but the end result will always be the same.
I want you to marvel at my ability to be free and unrestricted
Honest and committed
To my pledge:
As long as there are words to write, evil villains to slay, or Jehovah witnesses to scare
I will always be a nudie
I was gifted the above poem by a sweet young poet who follows me on Instagram. I thought I would share it because it truly tickled me
