“Dear Girl”, “Her Face” and “Yes I Am in High School”

“Dear Girl”, “Her Face” and “Yes I Am in High School”


Dear Girl

Dear Girl,
You anxious broken queer girl.
You waterfall you crystal ball your future bright and clear, Girl.
Lips painted red, head high and proud, they’ll tremble as you near, Girl.
Your voice a sword your words a knife your story is your spear, Girl.
Your face your lips your mouth your hips your body nearly sheer, Girl.
Don’t be afraid of what they say, you’re more than what you’ll hear, Girl.
Their respect will turn to mocking words if you shed a single tear, Girl.
They’ll reduce you to a mere girl.
But that’s only out of fear, Girl.
They look champagne and smell of wine but taste of bitter beer, Girl.
They’re fading stars and cratered moons and you’re a fiery golden sphere, Girl.
Their candlesticks don’t twinkle next to your great chandelier, Girl.
You burning sun you centered force you rule the stratosphere, Girl.
They’ll watch in awe as you appear, Girl.
They’ll bow their heads and kiss your feet and greet you with a cheer, Girl.
They’ll wake each morning praying that you’ll once again appear, Girl.
You sit atop your caravan with dark, worn, leather reins in hand and now’s your chance to steer, Girl.
Now kick it into high gear, Girl.
You newborn pioneer, Girl.
You’re ready, brave, and hungry and you’ve found your great frontier, Girl.
Dear Girl.

Her Face

Her hair is blonde though not as blonde as it used to be.
But it’s longer.
And her smile is beautiful though it’s not as carefree as it used to be.
But it’s straighter and whiter.
Her eyes are blue but not like the sky.
They’re blue like a dress that’s been washed too many times but still looks fit for a princess.
She hates the way her body is uneven but to tell you the truth,
When I look at both halves of her face, the only way I can tell them apart is the dimple that kisses her right cheek when she laughs.
Some days her smile lights up the sky like a sparkler.
Some days her smile flickers like a firefly who’s growing too old.
Some days she can’t bring herself to smile at all.

Yes I Am in High School

Yes I am in high school
and yes I have a simba pillow pet
because why shouldn’t I?
He’s a pillow he’s a pet he just can’t wait to be king
Can you feel the love tonight?

I’m not good at feelings but I’m good at thinking.
Nala plus simba plus moonlight plus
teenage hormones equals some form of Disney love.
When that boy looks at me with
his blue eyes and their long halo of eyelashes
I feel happy and I want the moment to last.
I know lots of words but I’ve only
been given one to sum up all those feelings
and that’s love
so who am I to question the magic of Disney?

Why am I told to make my bed
when I’m just going to get right back
in it to sleep in fourteen hours?

My parents used to tell I had to
but it’s hard to convince a
logical girl to do something
when the only argument you have is
“because it’s just what we do”
Now I only have to make the bed for special occasions
when my room needs to look presentable
Like when family is in town
and my aunt and uncle need to sleep in my room.
Then there’s no need to argue.

Make the bed
Sweep away the dead centipedes
Put the pride flag in the closet
(The irony of which is not lost on me).
I have four small mannequins on my desk
that cast strange shadows at night and
almost make you feel like you’re being watched
if you wake up in the middle of the right dream.
Funny that they can stay in my room but not a rainbow flag.

When my boyfriend came to visit
he tried to pose one of them
so its arms were dabbing
and I laughed and told him absolutely not
but in that moment
I didn’t need any math
to know how much
I loved that boy.
He gave me a stuffed bear that I
sleep with every single night
even though it doesn’t smell like him anymore.
Yes I am in high school
and yes I sleep with a teddy bear
because life is too short
and I’d rather look back and think
“wow I was childish”
than think
“wow I miss being a child”

About the Author

Davis Mathis

Davis Mathis is a 17-year-old from Georgia. She enjoys writing in her free time and especially loves writing poetry and personal essays about feminism and her experiences as a bisexual woman. Her work has been featured in Sheila-Na-Gig online and Terror House Magazine.

Read more work by Davis Mathis.