Michaela's Musings

  All Apples Rot Here is the house, Four hundred years in the making. Built with bleached bones and Black blood. Slicked with centuries of sweat. Burn marks etched into the hardwood floor. Nothing more American than apple pie. Gooey brown sugar and rancid flesh Served up to the highest bidder. Rot wriggles from beneath, As maggots eat away at the crust. We’re sent to eat in the kitchen When company comes. Dirty dishes pile high, Rank resentment wafts through the air. But we laugh. Nothing lasts forever. A teeny dent, A tiny crack in this mythical melting pot. XOXO, Michaela

                                                                                                         Lapse I can’t remember her laugh.  Maybe it was deep and warm,  Laced with Old Texan charm.  But then again, there’s a lot I don’t remember. Moths feast on the last photos my mind has saved. Taunting me with glimpses. Of honey blonde curls and bronzed skin. What was her name again? There is a woman at the end of my bed. Cloaked in white, Hazel eyes mirroring mine. Shining with guilt or relief, I can’t say. She glides towards me, Light as a feather. Soft hands cup my face And suddenly, I am seven years old again. XOXO, Michaela

                                                                                     Letter to a Bad Boyfriend I need to take the trash out. Bile climbs to the top of my throat, The stench of your cruelty choking me. Flies swarm, Ready to bite. You’re comfortable now. Stuffing yourself full as rot spills over. Too comfortable to leave Or be thrown out. Slimy peels and moldy meat litter the floor. Daring me, Taunting me. Because you know deep down, I am too scared to touch the mess. You promised to protect me. To keep the maggots at bay. But you let them eat away          At the rind of our love. I’ve grown tired Of that godforsaken smell. This is my life, And I don’t want you here anymore. Get t...

  As I prepared for college, I was inundated by adult relatives telling me the same thing: Enjoy it! These will be the best years of your life. I always found this sentiment quite puzzling. I mean, as adults in your 40s and 50s, your 20s were the best part of your life? As a second-year, I enjoy college. I love being within walking distance of my friends, restaurants, and other shops. I enjoy my classes—learning about women’s studies, how to write proofs, and fiction writing. It’s extremely enriching and has broadened my horizons.  However, I look forward to getting a job and having my own apartment. Being able to shower whenever I want. Having complete autonomy over my life. Lately, I’ve been doing research about the seven feminine archetypes out of curiosity. One of them is the Maiden. The embodiment of youth and innocence. She is Snow White and Sleeping Beauty. Waiting for Prince Charming to rescue them from their tower. It’s not lost on me that social media is inundated w...

Growing up, I was always bigger. Broad shoulders, thick thighs, big boobs, and a tummy. Even at my most fit (I played soccer for many years), I still had a tummy. I had muscle as well. At 17, I was almost 200 lbs. In my first year of undergrad, I barely ate and walked everywhere. I was constantly on the move. In the span of 10 months, I had lost 20 lbs. I’d gone from 189 lbs to 169 lbs. My thighs were smaller, my backrolls almost disappeared, my boobs got smaller, and my tummy got smaller. I was elated, and so was my family. I felt beautiful for the first time. But it came at a cost. Due to my lack of eating, I suffered from frequent migraines. My head would be in terrible pain in the mornings, something water couldn’t assuage. As I began my second year of undergrad, I made a promise to myself that I would eat more. At least one or two main meals a day. And it has helped. I don’t get as many migraines as I used to… but I’ve gained weight. Instead of 169 or 168 lbs, I’m now 173 lbs....

  Beyond The waves pulled the girl out to sea. Its powerful hands enveloping her like a mother would a child. Powdery sand swirling underfoot. Salt spun air fills her nose. So tiny amongst the endless expanse of turquoise and cobalt. Alien in her own world. Should she even return? To their cruel comments And hearts of malice. Or remain with the creatures of deep. With their jellied heads, Frilled gills and puffed spikes. Her father’s harsh voice shatters the reverie. What will it be? Fear is never knowing what lurks below, Regret is never venturing beyond the reef, But freedom is losing sight of the horizon. Choose wisely. XOXO, Michaela