I Wish I Could Be Kitty Pryde
I could disappear for real.
As a baby, I never scared the shit out of my parents
by phasing through a crib and disappearing until they found me
in a box of Christmas ornaments in the basement.
I was a boring lump, well-mannered, only spitting up
a slightly below average amount of my mashed peas.
I said “dada” and learned to walk at all the right times.
When I got older I climbed trees and scraped my hands and socked
the boy next door when he said I threw like a girl. I never
got into an Ivy League at thirteen and a half. I never traveled the world
in a jet, fighting twenty-foot tall robots, or sent a grumpy hairy man
back in time to save the world. I just slept in and missed homework
and skipped class to eat potato chips and ice cream.
My first kiss was backstage, high school, in the dressing room of Into the Woods
as she drew my Red Riding Hood cloak around me and whispered,
”I’m no wolf, but I could eat you up right now.” And her lilac painted nails
ran through my hair and i swear, my whole body blushed— but I had to get on stage,
and then I almost forgot all my lines.
For a decade, i kissed boys on camera when all i ever wanted
was to kiss girls alone and I would’ve given anything
for some softer, smaller hands but I never wanted to wear
that scarlet X on my chest. It was too much. So I became
famous for kissing boys, but even dancing on a frozen pond with Iceman
felt like icicles in my mouth.
I never asked to be like this, but I can’t help who makes me smile.
I’ve never seen the star-specked cosmos above the Earth
while fighting an Eater of Planets— really, the closest I’ve ever been
to the sky was the time I fell off a trampoline and busted my lip.
There are times when I wish I could disappear for real, just quit
the chorus of a million flashes and people who love me
without even knowing me. But somehow I ended up here,
I don’t know how. No super powers. No Kitty.