In the summer, I would stay out until midnight;
I caught lightning bugs in jars and called them faeries;
And gave them names;
And let them go, because I was too soft to keep them trapped all night.
I would play in the woods at noon;
Speak to goblins and spirits that only I could see;
Wander onto other people's land, and lay on the ground until the sun left hot, itchy marks on my skin;
Pick switchgrass and clover and wild onions and eat them while walking home.
I would read books too old for me to understand but too young for my reading level;
But the library was miles away;
So the old brown dictionary with the back cover page missing taught me words;
And I used the words to write the stories of the spirits in the woods.
After school, students would sit on the picnic tables behind the church;
Passing a water bottle filled with stolen tequila around;
Wincing at the bitter taste;
Crushing cigarette butts into the ground.
And as it got dark, we would sit at the edge of a gas station parking lot;
Speculate about sex and stars and the cars passing by;
Exchanging dollar bills for backwashed soda and homegrown marijuana;
Singing childish songs until we were picked up.
And at school I fought ignorance with kindness;
But ignorance was just replaced with hate;
And playing hate trumps kindness;
So then I fought with anger.
But anger is a way of life;
So soon I despised others and the Universe;
Suspicion gives way to paranoia;
So I became the hate I tried to fight against.
A house was built where the switchgrass and clover grew;
But I still went to the woods sometimes;
Though the goblins and spirits wouldn't show themselves anymore;
And I had grown wary of guns and hunting in recent years.
I would sit inside and research things;
Like sexuality and mental illnesses and psychic powers;
Until I doubted I could fall in love;
Until I doubted my own sanity and my own ability.
I would notice that girls had softer faces than the boys did;
And softer auras;
And softer, curving bodies;
Bodies that moved with the rolling hills and mountains of Appalachia itself.
So sometimes I would kiss the sweet lips of Appalachia;
And she kissed me too, tasting of sweet clover and switchgrass;
But the others would stare;
And we were crucified and burned while words were turned to weapons that I was unable to wield in my defense.
What they didn't know is that I flourish in fire;
And all they had done is fuel my anger;
But the flames scarred Appalachia;
So she ran back to the men she had kissed, and denied herself again.
And the smaller the town, the bigger rumors grow;
So one grew about the other countries;
And one grew about me;
That I was a bitch and a sinner and a Pagan and a freak.
But a small town is too small scale;
So I thought about how the stars and planets and the endless void;
Could have been created the same way humans are;
So sex and masturbation are the key to the Universe.
And I went deep into the woods to think about these things;
Back where the goblins used to show themselves;
Up to the field with the switchgrass and clover;
And I realized that I was smarter as a child than I am now.
