when i was old enough to hold up three fingers i realized i was God
and there
was something about the way my parents had forehead creases
but no smile lines that told me
“I am the one they should be worshiping”
and once,
out of fear of a doomsday where i too would forget all my
secrets of the universe
i wrote them down in bright red crayon and proudly gave them off to mama
who stuck them on the fridge so high
that by the time i got tall enough to reach them
again
i’d be reminded of my celestial greatness.
i am seventeen now
pushing mama’s height and
everytime i visit the fridge
to get stronger,
grow taller,
and cultivate those womanly things,
like breasts and lillies
i look straight ahead and see
bright red scribbles.
i am still trying to remember
all those special secrets
buried deep in my heart
but it’s hard,
because
i stopped using crayon a long time ago i guess.