Split Ends

This post is available in audio form, read and audiodescribed by the authors

Today Joan got in early and cut my hair. I like it straight and right under the ears. It always amazes me how good a hairdresser she is when she obviously never even trim her split ends. She is a strange scruffy young woman that one, but I like her. And I can no longer cut my own hair. My hands are so crooked and swollen, I can no longer take my rings off. Sometimes Joan massages my claw-like fingers with lotion. She says they feel like prayer beads under her smooth white fingertips. She is a cheeky young woman that one.

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Identities

I wish humanity could wake up and collectively make a decision,
Let’s listen to our hearts, as this world is in dire need of correction.
I am filled with so much pain and doubt inside myself.
When we see ourselves through their lens, we’re no longer ourselves.

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The Butterfly Effect

I was born without a name. I went by my designation number.

The war was still raging.

I was told that I was born because of the war. The others don’t have the X at the end of their designations like I do. I have it because my prototype was genetically enhanced to fight in the war.

When the war ended, they told me my name was Sam and I had a family to go live with. I argued that I had been born to fight a war, not to live an ordinary life. They told me I would have to be terminated since there was no war left to fight.

So, I did what all the other soldiers did—I packed my bags and I went home.

 

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The Mahu

I was born in Hackettstown, New Jersey.
All my friends called me Pirate Maddy.
Of my kingdom, I was not a princess but a king.

In the spring of my life, Dad said to me:
Maddy, we’re moving to The City.
And I felt in my heart the swell rising. Continue reading “The Mahu”

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