My Name
My name is Amelia. Strong and sure of herself without trying, Amelia knows exactly what she wants and sets ambitions so high they scrape blue paint off the clouds. Amelia comes from an old word, one that means to work, to persevere. Amelia is like a thick white tablecloth I’m scared to spill on. It is silver bird wings and the thick, heavy feeling of a medal around my neck. Amelia has no one color, it flickers like sunlight underwater and the shininess of linoleum floors. First blue like sea glass, and then a deep green ink. Amelia is the sound of new shoes in an empty hallway and the smell of markers and soapy water. Amelia is the order and accuracy I want but can never, ever have.
My Amelia tries hard to be the admirable and exemplary, the perfect girl with dreams that reach and reach to grab whatever she wants. And she's almost there, I swear she's almost perfect. I tell myself that as soon as I find the tiny gear I was born without, I won't be so up and down anymore, and there will be no more waves hitting the side of my boat, slowing me down. No more confused days looking for things right in front of me, no more shivering over slight mistakes. Sometimes, when I hear my name I hear the ups and downs too, the rippling letters that hit me right in the face. The letters that twist and turn in my ears, whispering whenever I do something wrong.
I want to be more like my name, the ever productive, the heroically hardworking. The head-turning achievement waiting to happen. I want to finally win the race against myself, the race I’ve hit the dusty ground on more times than I’d like to admit. At the finish line sits an unattainable, perfect Amelia. She never loses her temper, never forgets to fold her clothes, gets all the problems right the first time around. She fits right in but still stands out. She’s a lighthouse in the ocean, tall, bright, alone by choice. She’s a big pair of boots that I feel I’ll never grow into.
My name is Amelia. Strong and sure of herself without trying, Amelia knows exactly what she wants and sets ambitions so high they scrape blue paint off the clouds. Amelia comes from an old word, one that means to work, to persevere. Amelia is like a thick white tablecloth I’m scared to spill on. It is silver bird wings and the thick, heavy feeling of a medal around my neck. Amelia has no one color, it flickers like sunlight underwater and the shininess of linoleum floors. First blue like sea glass, and then a deep green ink. Amelia is the sound of new shoes in an empty hallway and the smell of markers and soapy water. Amelia is the order and accuracy I want but can never, ever have.
My Amelia tries hard to be the admirable and exemplary, the perfect girl with dreams that reach and reach to grab whatever she wants. And she's almost there, I swear she's almost perfect. I tell myself that as soon as I find the tiny gear I was born without, I won't be so up and down anymore, and there will be no more waves hitting the side of my boat, slowing me down. No more confused days looking for things right in front of me, no more shivering over slight mistakes. Sometimes, when I hear my name I hear the ups and downs too, the rippling letters that hit me right in the face. The letters that twist and turn in my ears, whispering whenever I do something wrong.
I want to be more like my name, the ever productive, the heroically hardworking. The head-turning achievement waiting to happen. I want to finally win the race against myself, the race I’ve hit the dusty ground on more times than I’d like to admit. At the finish line sits an unattainable, perfect Amelia. She never loses her temper, never forgets to fold her clothes, gets all the problems right the first time around. She fits right in but still stands out. She’s a lighthouse in the ocean, tall, bright, alone by choice. She’s a big pair of boots that I feel I’ll never grow into.
Comments
Log in or register to post comments.