jlaw hairstyle

I am a carbon copy of all the women that have come before me
The pieces of them I stole to make up the puzzle of me.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
The hairstyle from JLaw,
The strength from my mother,
My best friends honesty,
My sisters head strong attitude. 
So what is really me?
Am I made up of parts?
Am I a rusty car whose inside is sparkling and shiny because it’s all stolen goods?
I stole their time, their life, their love,
And yet gave nothing in return.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
A cold night in November, 2013
When I saw my first slam poem about feminism and decided I wanted to stand like that, speak like that.
Writing, angry and inexcusable.
Someone to change the world.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
Snowy December, 2014
When I took my friends strength and hoped it would help my recovery, as well as hers.
It only seemed to make me a little sadder.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
February, 2015
Seeing my sisters best friend prance around in her velvet dress and luscious lipstick like a mermaid ready to lure sailors to their inevitable doom. 
Deciding then and there, that’s who I want to be.
How I want to hold myself.
But the tail didn’t fit,
I couldn’t swim like she could.
The ocean wasn’t my own, 
Because it was stolen, not grown.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
God, I wanted to be like them.
Strong.
Independent.
Fierce.
But I was nothing more than plagiarism held together by good intentions.
My word count was there but it was all copy and pasted.
No citations to prove I am an original with mere help of others.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
Instead, I am all others.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
I worry I got lost while making myself up. 
I don’t remember what’s me and what’s them
What was me
What was them.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
I want to give it back and start over.
Build myself anew.
Colour in myself again, this time making sure to adhere to the lines and numbers as the instructions say. 
Instead, I’m all blacks and blues, little spots of red where I wanted there to be passion, but there was only anger.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                               
I stole myself from them and coloured myself in, but the finished painting was a stranger. 
Someone I no longer recognized,
Someone I no longer wanted to be.
                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                              
I want to give it back.
Carbon date me - today. Brand new.
Rising from the ashes,
All grey and unfinished.
All me.
From today on, all me.
—  The Women That Came Before Me (Thank You)