Versions of our selves

By Maya Olivo & Rachel Feltman

These are poems we wrote, together and separately, while reflecting on the theme of transformation—these poems are about all the different versions of ourselves we hold at once.

Versions of myself

Rachel Feltman

My favorite version of myself is always roughly two years younger
That’s how long it takes 
For me to forget
How much I hated her 
How her voice wavered
How her flesh wobbled 
How her hair frizzed and her bones ached 
I can only love her when I’ve had time to make myself believe
That I’ve lost everything I see in photographs of her 
Just in time to start sowing seeds of self-love for the girl I am today
That I’ll reap some twenty-odd months from now 
Flowers to arrange prettily for the loathsome woman I’ll become 

Teddy Bear

Maya Olivo

I wish I were a teddy bear
Filled to the brim with secrets
You can toss me around and even
Then I’ll wear a sewn-on smile

I wish I were a teddy bear
A stranger to the concept of romance,
Body dysmorphia, sleeping through dance
And watching past friendships 
Harden like old playdough

Still dancing to the mundane 
Symphony of the day by day
Nine to five hours
Of stepping on the scale 
Smacked in the face by smothered subconscious mind waves

How to walk only for the sake of walking 
And wave at people, 
At past me’s
At future you’s,
Hoping our mistakes won’t trail along behind them
Still, keep waving 
At people, and people, and more people

I wish I were a teddy bear
Filled to the brim with stuffing 
I can’t tear the stitches on my own 
In here there’s enough stuff in 
Even if I crack and need to cry at my home 
Okay, maybe I need your help

All the nonsense arguments with mother
Her breath tumbles into 
My unused body
Knees wobble in misaligned chaos
Muscles strain to lift sentences that 
Somehow always outweigh the room

I wonder if they would still exist
If my crayons weren’t in the garbage
I wonder if they would still exist
If I still allowed myself to eat pancakes every day

I wish I were a teddy bear
Why?
Toys can’t play or scream
Can’t speak or dream
Nobody wants their crayons clothed in 
Dust from the retirement home

Home is my weakness 
Even before I had to I couldn’t leave it
Playing video games in my brain
Pancakes vs. pounds reaching 108
Innocence vs. a dance I really hate

And then,
A whistle
A knock 
On the door
The wood bruises your knuckles
My stuffing falls to the floor
You giggle 
Sun absorbing your whole face
I shiver 
Like I’m surprised I still can keep standing
“It’s time,” you say
“It’s time to go.”

For the eyeing of my scars

Rachel Feltman 

I keep trying to get her out 
But she’s stuck in my throat 
the last remaining ash
Of the fire you set in me
She’s the dark muck you left over and I, I, I
I know that one day she will try to rise 
Up out of my gullet 

I would let her stay if she’d just settle
I don’t think I’d have much choice
If she’d just settle
She could make a home in my gut 
Hook a single claw into the meat of me
And I would have to claim her 

But she’ll claw her way out 
Lash my tongue with her red hair 
And she’ll fight like the devil but I, I, I  
I will choke her back down
Mangled and digestible 

Why is it that men 
Fill our throats with the spectres they’ve made of us
Leaving us to nurse them and bear them 
And kill them 
And love them

ladybug pimples

Maya Olivo

i can feel your fingers tug at my sleeve 
i can hear your keys a-jingle when you’re ‘bout to leave
do you care to look up from your work
and call me your distraction for as long as you please

i know my trash can’s getting bloated 
from all the poems i feed it at night
and i know that you’re not worth it
you can call me your distraction every night of your life

compassion is a color i will never wear 
your face
your body
your nose
your hair
my feet stay gliding with the tunnel of boredom
my eyes
my lips
i wish 
i cared

how do you feel that your name’s in the bible?
what did you think after my choir recital?
i’ll pour my lip gloss in your morning tea
you belong with the dogs but i don’t want you to be unhappy

pitter patter 
rain drops dive into your pores
i’m the beetle in your bedroom that’s so hard to ignore
my classmate keeps a list of everything you’ve done
your fight for the white army and my fight for the sun
nobody has won

i pretend like the play’s so simple 
pray for makeup to cover my ladybug pimples

Process

We’ve been spending most of our pair sessions writing poetry based on various writing prompts, and discussing the themes that come up. After finding that we both enjoyed writing poems that evoked the idea of past or alternate versions of ourselves, we decided to submit a small collection inspired by this idea.