again

i remember some time back when i wrote more often that i was challenged in class to write in another perspective. by that i mean they wanted us to pretend to be someone we weren’t, try and characterize ourselves as someone, anyone we could imagine. i re-read the work and i for some reason just shrugged it all off and turned myself into a woman. i lived my life the same way i normally would—just as a woman.

i remember my classmates having more elaborate stories. like being the president or a superhero or anything that actually made sense for such an open project. i honestly just know now that my previous understanding of writing spelled out that even if i had pursued it the way i wanted to that none of it would matter. i was bad at it. i am still bad at it. i threw the paper in the garbage and i hope i never have to look at it again