I’m 31 now, and I find myself trying to remember how things were in my early 20s. There’s nostalgia for sure – I had a phone that could only text and call, and I’d often leave it alone for half a day knowing nothing important was waiting for me. In between classes at university, I’d march straight to the coffee shop with the large, never-cleaned sofas, and curl up with a filtered brew for $1.50 and some of the theological greats in literary form.

I had two skirts that I wore to my grandparent’s church a couple of times a year

The rest of the time it was jeans and an oversized fleece

Until I was thirteen and started running, restricting, putting on blue, blue eyeliner

I turned femme in a summer

I grew up with lakes, far from the coast

You could swim and your eyes wouldn’t burn

But it was the summer of 2014 swimming in the Mediterranean, where I could feel the infusion of salt in the water lift me above the waves

I didn’t have to struggle

It wasn’t said outright, but I would read the verses that said my flesh wasn’t to be trusted, that it would cause me to stumble and sin.

Only my soul would save me.

And I loved that feeling, my soul being enflamed with the love of Spirit and community. It could carry me on days when I didn’t sleep, I smiled at everyone I passed, I prayed for people with distressed faces sitting around me on the bus. Being a lover of God was my joie de vivre.

To be a good girl

One must not get into trouble

If you’re emotional, for goodness sake, do so quietly

The burp that escaped through your tears

Just solidifies our opinion of you

You are not fit to be here

I go out into the world

Looking to still connect and smile

With an open wound

I wave but they’re busy

I know it’s not me but I feel like an annoyance

And the tears squeeze past again