where i'm from

today I’m from a place that’s slow moving and tired. this place where coffee doesn’t make a dent. i have a thing for bad coffee, gas station sludge or the weak kind you get for free at hospitals or waiting rooms. i make coffee at home but it’s bad in a way that isn’t bad enough, but i make due. i like synthetic tasting sugar free creamers. i like all these things. it’s not the fashion. i know i’m judged for my want of east coast convenience store 42 hour bottom of the barrel rocket fuel. that’s the stuff. i’m from new jersey. none of this should be surprising. i’m all greasy bags of chips, snacks that turn your fingers unnatural colors. i’m all hot dogs, you know, the kind with the cheese injected into them. i’m all carnivals, rides that should have been condemned, all death defying, it’s a wonder i’m still alive.

i moved to california. for awhile i was all avocado and sprouts on sprouted grain bagels, on a good day, a slice of tomato. for a moment i was all $9 green juices, carrying my yoga mat around in my athleisure. i was full messenger bags with spin shoes and sweat towels and en extra pair of socks. i was all smoke and mirrors, like maybe i could really fake it until i make it and the big reality show reveal i’d come out in a body con dress and i’d be effortlessly beautiful and white.

i’m all low grade anxiety on the daily about my double chin and the clunky way i get up from the reformer in pilates class, the springs and carriage all clanging, like humpty-dumpty and the wall. i’m all egg shaped and weird. i’ve left california but i’m not quite the well worn jeans and complicated facial hair of portland. i’m anti-umbrella. i’m covered in dog hair and oversized sweatshirts. i’m top knots and fraying fading teal hair and cbd tinctures. i’m the aging raver in leg warmers and black leggings with a husband who works in tech. i’m the ex-vegan who eats spam because it is her history. powdered milk and corned beef and garlic fried rice for breakfast. the colonialism present on my plate, my people didn’t invent canned meat.

these days i’m anti-salad, pro ice cream in the winter and not interested in eating leftovers because i’m spoiled. i’m all recovery from catholic school and forever fag hag. i’m all carbs and wearing hoodies as winter coats and black lives matter. i’m all therapy and failed attempts at a meditation practice. i’m 32 flavors and then some and every singer songwriter you can remember from the late 90s.