First Edition of Personal Chapbook-
Hey everyone,
I know it's been a while since the last time I posted- It's been a bit of a time the last few weeks. As you know I just got back to school in late August, and now I've dived headfirst into my sophomore year. Classes have been consuming a decent amount of my time- and then the rest has been filled with some self-care, and time with friends. This post is going to look a little different than the last- considering I'm about to share a pretty personal Lyric Essay I had to write for my creative non-fiction class. I wanted to share because it meant a lot to me for my healing journey. I was scared shitless to read it in class for our workshop- but I knew that if I didn't share it, I wouldn't feel the things that are necessary to feel in this rocky time that is my home life at the moment. I want to preface now that I am very my OK, and that I have people who are supporting me every day. I am in a lot better mindset than I was last year, and I'm finally feeling good enough to share something like this. I worked really hard on this essay, it's a first edition of a chapbook we are writing (a collection of shorter non-fiction essays). It's a bit metaphorical, as you're about to see, but I really wanted to put it out somewhere to manifest that healing era- and to feel like my writing is going somewhere (and maybe helping people along the way!)
***(TRIGER WARNING- Mention of emotional abuse)***
On Raising Goats
By, Lee Ames
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Goats are a strongly misunderstood animal-
You see, whenever anyone first thinks of a goat, their mind immediately goes to the false idea that they eat everything in their sight. I think children's books, and fiction, has led to this common misconception for many individuals. There was this one book I had as a kid, that sat on our family bookshelf in the upstairs hallway, that depicted a very hungry goat. It was small in size, some sort of McDonald’s toy edition gifted in a Happy Meal. It had always made me mad when people assumed that goats ate tin cans or glass plates- at least that’s what the book had said.
I knew the truth- but no one seemed to listen to me. I would inform them that this tidbit of information was wrong, but it was like they couldn’t hear me, asking the same questions over and over again. No matter how hard I tried, my voice was not heard.
I was only a child.
How would I know?
Goats are gentle animals, the equivalent of large dogs. They like head scratches, long walks, and lots of fresh foliage. Goats are a herd animal, they like being with their people. They will follow you wherever you go- a fact many people don’t seem to know. I used to be like a goat. I think a lot of us used to be like goats, a few of us may still be like goats. I never really thought about the idea of being anything other than that, other than myself- until I was taught that the things I liked were strange, not the norm.
What’s normal?
I was a child.
I like to think that the word ‘normal’ isn’t real- along with the idea of ‘perfect’. It’s false, just like the fact that goats eat everything. It’s a misunderstanding about who we are, convincing ourselves that there is some basic line for normalcy. If we don’t follow that, then we are something else, we are goats. We don’t fit in, in the terms of math we may be considered outliers. Goats, they are happy animals, something I used to share, but now I’m not quite sure. Shamed for my outlying tendencies- sometimes even by people close to me. I want to be a goat again, but the mountain above me is a steep, ridged, long trek-
However I’m lucky,
Goats like climbing.
Maybe I’d still be a goat if I wasn’t told that I was ‘too nice’. Asked ‘what even are you’ when I didn’t have an answer. Or looked at and convinced I was being the problem from that one person in my life who was supposed to love me for who I am. I think I remember a time when I did feel seen, but as I grew- grew into the person that’s standing here now, that changed. No, now I’m being convinced that I was the one ‘abusing’, that I was ‘discarding’. I was expected to be happy, not to show any feelings of annoyance, and to give love to the person mistreating me. I thought it was normal, there's that word again. Normal. What is normal? Well, if there’s a normal, it’s not this. It’s not the comments about our physic, our clothes, the snide comments about our laziness compared to your achievements. How it all makes sense now- we know where I got it from. I don’t feel safe anymore- as I have sat back for so long, I think I almost forgot how to move forward, to speak for myself. I remember that time I was told to ‘stop talking, or I’ll ground you’, while in the car. I had just been stepping up for my sisters, I won’t ever forget that, the first time I felt threatened by him.
It’s been years since I knew that it’s ok to like what I like, love who I love, and dress how I want to dress. I am not my fathers daughter, I mean I am, but I am not my father. I don’t want to be my father. I think If I close my eyes, I can almost imagine the sun on my skin, the sound of the breeze in the grass, and the soft murmurs of Patty, Katniss, Kelly, Lego, Peta, Lily, Lucky- maybe even Debbie, and Daphne. If I close my eyes, I can see them.
I miss my goats.
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Thank you for reading (and getting this far in general),
You all mean a lot to me- I appreciate you, I see you, I'm sending all my love to you <3
-Lee
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