Remnants of a turbulent childhood are hastily suffocated
A dozen garbage bags filled with the worst versions of myself
Now deemed wholly irrelevant to the lofty ambitions laid out before me
I drag them from my home with great relief
This baggage I can no longer carry is easily exchanged
A shiny new credit card, rectangular bags of clothing,
Bedding, and other collegiate supplies and responsibilities
Infancy and adolescence are quietly abandoned outside my front door
My mother is left to pick through the remnants,
Carrying close to her heart what might be salvaged
How much time have I spent hoarding and purging memories
Appraising them, morphing and suppressing all that I am able
The physical markers of my formative years outlined by light, laughter, and insatiable curiosity
Consumed by a unique pain comprised of longing and acute bitterness
Every effort to prove my maturity feels paradoxical
Making me feel more juvenile in my defensiveness
Internally debating my own capacity to function
In any independent, critical, or practical manner
I don’t know who I am
Or if these scraps of the past define such things
I suppose I’m about to find out
Georgia Hope writes queer fantasy with a southern gothic twist and essays that break down the turbulent relationship between adolescence and academia. Currently a high school senior in the state of Texas, her idea of a good time is exploring haunted small towns with a notebook, camera, and a large cup of iced coffee. When she’s not making her readers cry you can find her gathering more bizarre lore for her next story or having an existential crisis on her Instagram page @georgiainabook.
Featured image by Sven Brandsma on Unsplash.
