Dear body…
“I’m sorry” feels too much like the first two words of an over-priced Hallmark card. You deserve something far more original than that. I want to tell you that I think it’s time to find new words. Pull up a chair and sing to me. I encourage you not to harmonize. Be out of tune. It’s not about how you sound anymore. I just…just want you to tell me what you want to be called. This is your time. This is your vocabulary. I’ve been sounding you out incorrectly. This whole time; I’ve been addressing you wrongly and you never corrected me. You have been too polite. Too submissive. Too hesitant to make a scene. Make a scene. Rummage around and tell me what hurts. What doesn’t feel right. What doesn’t belong. Put gender aside. Just…for now. If your chest is wrong, we can bind. We can remove. You can change your pronoun each day, if necessary. Your hair and its cuts or lack there of do not need to be consistent or follow any chart. There is no model anymore. We are all scraps. Cut-ups. Burroughs had it right all along. We are bits of so many things. A mash-up of texts and languages. Body, I know I’ve been your bully. I have rubbed poisons into you and ignored all of your voicemails. What have I been so scared of. You’ve remained…far longer than most. After all. After all this. After all I’ve done. I’m listening now. I’m ready.
Aimee Herman 