They always tell me god is an entity

I like to ask people what god looks like
and they always say the same thing—
God is an entity.

Not a man or woman but a thing that nurtures and surrounds us.
He—no, it is calm and complacent—
No! Not complacent…

Powerful. Powerful and benevolent and merciful. Never-changing.
They hold onto their breath before telling me this.

A boy (he was very smug as he looked at me) said Absolute Truths lead humanity.
Don’t you believe no one should be killed? That murder is wrong?
Some people say—
But what do you believe?
I don’t know! I don’t know! Does it matter? I am one
pot on a balcony that could overlook an amazon or an alley.
I need water and sun, and then we can talk about your Absolute Truths.

“life is sacred”

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I love my father very much
but when he said that all life began
at conception,
I felt like I had an unwanted child in my belly—not yet
a child—an alien

and he said I must birth it
and carry it with me,
let its rattle beat away my personality
until it is one shade: Motherhood
Always

I felt disgusted. The loves of my life
will be my children, I know. But daily
I wait for the condom to break
the ring to malfunction
the pill to disintegrate before it reaches my mouth

and my lover’s seed to flow into my vulnerable uterus and attack my baffled egg, who can’t fight him off
and my boyfriend will say
“Life is sacred.”

This is Not a Super Depressing Parental Divorce Post. Well, actually…

I wrote part of this coming back from Texas two days ago.


Tuesday Evening, July 29th, 2014. Texas. 

I wish I could say I felt some great pain when my parents finalized their divorce early this week. But honestly, I feel nothing. I don’t. Feel. Anything. This isn’t a change. This is a pebble a kid threw into a great big lake. There are ripples, certainly, but does this pebble graze the fish? Does it wound the frog? No. It settles amongst the millions of other pebbles in that vast lake that is my life.

Perhaps I should reminisce about the time my parents were happy—the times they kissed and held hands and talked late into the night before going to bed. I do not remember this. I have never known a time my parents loved each other, or showed affection. My oldest memory is a fight. I never heard my mom say she had ever loved my dad until I was 17. I first saw their wedding photos six months ago. The album was nestled in between the gardening handbook and a bird index.

Thursday, 2 AM, July 31st, 2014. Indiana.

No. When I said I felt nothing, it wasn’t quite true. I was numb. I was awaiting the blow. But when Mom. Nate and I got home, we discovered that the papers were incomplete; therefore it isn’t finalized. They are the most ridiculous ‘married couple’ I’ve ever known. And the odd thing is that I had prepared for an obstacle, and I found myself relieved when it appeared. I do not want this to happen. I do not want this change. A part of me wants it to go on as before; the fights and the insults that hide the resentment and hurt. Perhaps I’m a sadomasochist…

When I was in middle school, my mother got me What A Girl Wants (VHS of course, because DVDs weren’t nearly as popular). In case you don’t know what it’s about:

Yeah, basically it’s the best teen movie ever.

I would watch this movie all the time, and crying, I’d think, “Why her and not me? Why does she get the happy ending? Where are my perfectly-in-love parents?” I mean, I would have loved the sexy British hunk, but that was not the priority when I was twelve.

Now, almost fourteen years after they separated, I still feel a twinge.

Wazzzzup

My name is Chloe, and I’m the type of person who is usually all talk and no walk. But today, I want to start that walk. I want to be more adventurous, and I want to share with you all the things I really love.

Here are the things I love:

  • Dogs (so much undeniable stupidity)
  • British Literature
  • My parents and ‘little’ bro
  • Easy Mac, for I am lazy
  • Mat Kearney
  • Antiquated words
  • Looking at babies
  • Sushi
  • Swashbuckling

Thanks, babes and bros. I’ll try to keep you entertained.