first, I was a girl in a body that kept getting older.
it didn’t mean a thing until every magazine
plastered with teen heartthrobs kept saying
that meant the end of the world. so then,
the end of the world grew nearer and the women
talked about ways to make it stop or block
spots of sun from beamraying down as hard.
the thing is: each one of us women has a girl
inside us asking why? and how can I be good?
or what sacrifice is required next? as if
it’s the only thing in the world worth knowing.
you must answer the questions like your life
depends on them. the sweet violet
blossom of night will protect you from the stars
twinking here and there like their prettiness
is worth being dead. not all that sparkles
has spark. you must learn to talk back
to those thoughts, all of the knowledge propped up
on stilts inside you. screaming power and greed
make people do crazy things and good
doesn’t mean what you think and enough is enough.
all this to say: you’re not going to survive this life
so you might as well wear your cool girl sunglasses
with unshaved legs and imperfect skin and immodest
clothes and improper goals. make your vision boards
from a new kind of magazine and swim under twilight
and follow the orbit of flowers. see how they feel
darkness freely, forgetting all about the fading light.
About the Poet:
Amanda Conover writes poetry that is often surreal-leaning, mystical, and confessional. She is the Poetry Editor for Carolina Muse Literary & Arts Magazine and holds an MFA from Arcadia University. Her poems appear in Atlanta Review, Glass: A Journal of Poetry, Lumina Journal, Witches Magazine, and elsewhere. Outside of poetry, she works as an editor in scholarly publishing and loves hiking, traveling, and attending raves. Find her at www.amandaconover.com or on Instagram @amandamconover.
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