The one in which I envision the universe as a female deity and then call her “bro.”

Dear Universe:

Some may shy away from bad luck or misfortune by hiding away, fearful of inciting your further wrath. Fuck that. Here is my respectful middle finger. I know you wield ultimate power and that things happen without reason or without meaning I can discern with my lowly monkey brain but this monkey doesn’t give a shit.

This is my profanity-filled and profanity-fueled stand. I am made of titanium. I was birthed in steel.

Under my skin are phoenix bones. I eat ashes for breakfast and regurgitate them as art, as power, as thought life and children by night time. You can wound me and I will not break.

Peel back my eyelids and yes, there is pain, and hardening against all the disappointments of a life, any old life, and there is the tiredness of knowing and seeing injustice and sadness but doesn’t that make us the same after all? You with your unrelenting seeing, the beauty of all your seasons and everything on earth you’ve made, and me, here in the maelstrom of deed, of fact and happenstance and circumstance, of action and thought and yet not knowing, never knowing what is coming next.

But I know only this one thing. I will rise again. And again and again if you must, if your green Mother Earth incarnation feels the need to shower more shit on my head, if the tornado is up my alley, if you’re aiming a bowling ball right between my eyes, it’s okay. In fact, it’s more than okay. Come at me, bro.

(Runs, ducks and hides).


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5 Responses to The one in which I envision the universe as a female deity and then call her “bro.”

  1. Good one Jackie! Loved this one. Powerful and creative.

  2. I really like your posts!! :) This one was great too! Like she said above: very powerful and creative! I enjoy your writing

  3. Keith

    Really? This is what you do all day?

    • admin

      Do I know you? Is this what you do all day, comment on blogs from a Brentwood public school email?

    • admin

      And yes, this is what I do all day. It takes me 12 hours to type 100 words. It’s that 13th hour in which I care for a baby and a preschooler, cook, clean, shop and write 1,000 words for magazines. Oh and pee and eat my bon bons. Maybe I should work on my time management skills.

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