by Steve Johnson

by Melissa Llanes Brownlee

I hide in my sisters’ closet and drape myself in long mu’umu’u, in flowy peasant blouses, in tight Jordache jeans and dream of walking the hallways at school, my hair brushing my back, my nails and lips, a puckery red, catcalls and envy, trailing behind me as I listen to my father screaming at my mother and I hope they don’t find me

I hide myself in muscle, in warrior football jerseys, and bouncy cheerleader girlfriends, in stormy surfing and outrigger paddling, my skin always bronzed, my hair shorn close, not an ounce of doubt peeking through, not a sliver of side eye, earning praise and shoulder pounding from my father, my mother dreaming of little brown brawny babies and I hope their dreams don’t come true

I reveal myself, slowly, at first in long hair, ear piercings, a thinning of muscle, in form-fitting masculinity, an eye to acceptable fashion, and I move ever so gently to a palette of MAC colors, soft and shimmery, bright and incandescent, to a garden of Cross Color patterns, bold and attention seeking, Guess jeans hugging my hips, remembering my days in my sisters’ closet, finally finding release

Image via Pexels by Steve Johnson