Green is not my color

Daffodils are my favorite flowers.

Once upon a time, one whole year ago, I had green hair in the spring. It was an accident, and I felt like Anne of Green Gables when she tried to dye her hair raven black and it turned out green instead. I was so sad. It happened while I was hypomanic. I met a strange man in the hot tub at 2am the night before and then my hair went from blonde to purple to green. I saw the man that sexually assaulted me months after it happened while I was at goodwill shopping for candlesticks on my birthday (and I crashed out). My body tried to balance and I ended up with green hair and a hurt heart.

This year, in the spring, my hair is blonde, but my nails are green. My nails are green because I like a boy that doesn't like me as much as I like him. My nails are painted green (which is not my color) because it's his favorite color. But the next day, I picked a fight because I was anxious (and jealous) and confused. And he didn't see my green nails at all. Then I wrote a poem for him. He hasn't seen that either. My friends hate him and he made me cry, but I still want him - isn't that awesome? Who knows what a right choice is anyway. I want to be wanted as a whole person and not just used for my body anymore. I don't really expect that to happen at this point, but he told me to think about what I wanted and then get back to him at the end of the week about whether I want to see him again (and by that he means to continue sleeping together without any exclusivity). I do want to see him, but I don't think it would be wise to go back to the same situation that was JUST hurting my feelings.

Anyway, this is the poem I wrote for the tatted mustache boy and his cats.

-

About Cats

When I visit you, I get cat hair on my socks.

Milka, the spotted white cat, needs her nails trimmed.

She's scratched my thighs three times now.

Still, I love to visit,

squished together on your couch,

entangled in your mirror.

I kiss the bow and arrow

tattooed on your right hip (my left)

before we move to green sheets by moonlight

You, me

and Spanish lullabies are mixed in those sheets.

The last time I saw you,

you laid on top of me for a five-minute hug.

My legs wrapped tight around your back.

It was so still, and I wanted to stay like that forever

feeling your weight above me

and your arms beneath me.

When I wore those black 80s short shorts,

it was purely performative.

So was coming over without a bra.

I was braless the first time you called me smart.

I wanted you to think I was smart

so the bra was phased out.

You kissed my forehead

one, two

five times that night,

(for safe travels).

I hate this game.

Of other girls knowing your sheets

and your mirror and your cats.

This game of not being yours.

So, I sent you a list of grievances:

You never remember what I say (and)

You change plans last minute (and)

Your instagram says I'm not your type (and)

I don't want to be blocked on snapchat (or) watch your forest green phone slip back (into) your pocket to take to the bathroom (again)

while I tell Tallah, (the striped brown kitten),

about the movie (again).

The funny thing is:

I didn't like cats until I liked you.

They are moody and standoffish.

They are so particular.

Their hair gets everywhere.

Hard to wash out.

Impossible to keep.

-

(I don't know what to say

but sometimes I still miss you).

-

Anyway, I am behind in most of my classes and it's hella late and the White Lotus finale was good, but the ending didn't really hit the way I wanted it to. Like it didn't feel like commentary on anything important? That frustrates me, but who's to say what the point of tv even is. I have learned hella about vampires recently though, so I'll be back with more about that by the end of the week.

Yours Truly,

Macy