I Also Agree

I also agree

iMac stands for i Milk and cream

Some Imodna Sketches for the soul

the coolest fella

My grief of the girl I could’ve been.

I constantly grieve the girl that I could’ve been. I think about the endless summer nights out driving with friends, every window rolled down, music playing so loud that our teeth buzz, our hair getting knotted from the wind, sitting in that rushing river of femininity that seems unstoppable, unconquerable. Maybe I would’ve been on the softball team, went to a friend’s house after the “big game”, braided each other’s hair, laughed as the sun rose and we realized we stayed up all night by accident again. I might’ve found my fashion sense along-side my friends as we grew up, maybe we would’ve shared tops, skirts, boys, anything and everything. I wouldn’t have yearned for the colors and shapes that were “Only for boys!”, I wouldn’t have felt itchy in my own skin, I wouldn’t have felt the need to stuff a sock down my pants to feel whole, and wouldn’t have spent hours of staring at myself in the mirror praying that wasn’t really me standing there.

If I was born “right” I would’ve gone to the prom with a nice boy in a nice suit, someone I could take home to my parents and he’d be scared to meet my dad. He’d ask me a million questions before we went in, his hands would’ve been shaking and sweaty, they would slip off the door knob as he turned it and entered my house. He’d help my parents move me into my college dorm, he’d cry with them as they all drove off, saying goodbye as my parents told me I’d “always be our little girl”. I’d meet friends fast because I was in the girls dorm rather than the boys, I would share makeup and clothes with the girls on my floor.  Some of them would stick with me for years, speak at my wedding and my funeral in unthinkable years in the future, but others would leave after a few months. I would bond with them through our shared experiences, makeup fiascos, period disasters, and breakups. Their names would fade as the years went on.

Come the day of my marriage, my dad would speak, he’d stifle tears as he told stories from my childhood, how I’d wear my moms way-too-big-on-me wedding dress and her shoes, how I’d planned out every aspect of my future wedding by the time I was twelve, and that he’s not ready to see me go but he’s proud of the woman I’ve become. I’d cry. There’d be sniffles from around the room and I’d see my best friend dab her eyes with a napkin. My mom would speak about how I reminded her of herself when she was younger, she’d tell my new husband to watch out for a boy I had a crush on when I was six, everyone would laugh as tears filled their eyes. I’d watch as my husband dances with his mom, understanding that I’ll never have that kind of relationship, but not thinking twice about it because I’m a woman, nothing else. I’d cry as I’d dance with my father, I’d lean on his shoulder as we danced slowly and he’d chuckle and make a comment about almost stepping on my dress that he’d helped me pick out. Everything would seem right as I dance with my husband. He’d whisper in my ear that he loved me and that he was the luckiest man in the world. He’d have said this to me a thousand times but it’d make me tear up everytime.

A few years in the future I’d be a mother of a beautiful daughter. I’d put her in a “Daddy’s Little Girl” onesie without thinking about it twice, she’d try on my way-too-big-on-her wedding dress and shoes from years before her, and she’d ride in the car with her friends with the windows down and hair knotting. She would’ve joined the softball team and stayed up all night. I’d teach her how to braid hair and do her makeup. Her father and I would cry as we dropped her off at college, we’d cry again at her wedding as we told her life story. She’d live life like I did, fulfilled and loved. She was born the way she should’ve been; nothing more, nothing less.

sketch inspired by the imodna crime au

babe wake up warrior nun is back