I was born in the hallway of the hospital. I came when they were on the road, so I spent my first night on the outside in a hotel. I was in a real hurry to get here. I’ve been on the run ever since.
The other night, I sneaked away from a party held half in my honor (the other half is for Rachelle) and laid my 32 year old bones in the guest bedroom.
I slipped one foot on the floor like my Mama taught me. And as the room pleasantly spun and buzzed, I listened to everyone down below sing and stomp their feet and dance and know all the words to every song by Salt n Peppa. I hovered over the party like a benevolent, tipsy ghost and had such deep relief at someway, somehow getting away with this ridiculous lovely life.
Sometimes I pout and rend my garments, but then I think about how nothing has ever, never fucking stopped me.
