The Years On The Clock

 A cracked pocket watch set at 11:55 sits a top wrinkled brown paper with cursive writing. 

A cracked pocket watch set at 11:55 sits a top wrinkled brown paper with cursive writing. 

The Years On The Clock

 You drew your first breath,
And the clock struck one.
You were handed your floating gown,
Pinkish in flesh with its very own crown,
But your sky was blue,
And the clock struck two.
Rigid and steadfast,
Despite the telling voices,
You climbed up a tree,
And the clock struck three.
You made friends with birds at flight,
Jumped with all your might.
The crest of your wings still feeble,
You fell to the floor,
And the clock struck four.
Others came to your aid,
Embroiled in rage, you said:
“I can do it alone!” pushing them aside,
And the clock struck five.
Struck Six, seven,
Eight, nine.
The voices are louder,
Digging in your heart like a mine.
Your light is their tragedy
And eternal confliction,
Presumably covered or bought with affection.
Don’t walk the line drawn for you,
We are each our own knight,
We each birth our future,
And we get through our night.
Let it seethe through you steady and bright,
The blue divine of your loud existence.
The clock struck ten,
Eleven,
But you were walking your distance.
You’re here now in your might and flight,
with wings strong as the stroke of midnight.
If you’re half of anything it’s only the remainder of your life, because
“A woman’s whole life in a single day, just one day, and in that day, her whole life”
Virginia Woolf

 Virginia Wolf stares off thoughfully to the side with an old clock wrapped around her, reaffirming her theory about the elasticity of time.

Virginia Wolf stares off thoughfully to the side with an old clock wrapped around her, reaffirming her theory about the elasticity of time.

I grew up with superhero stories. Seethed into the world’s culture. Even literature had that narrative, there’s always a hero and a victim, there’s always someone getting saved. And all of them great stories, I had no issue with the distress itself, but with the damsel in it. You know, the one whose dress is caught up in the wire or the one who slips and falls coincidently into the hands of her savior –unless Quentin Tarantino is directing- . The one who is never her own hero, and that idea stuck with me and I think, with a lot of young girls, that we need a savior at some point. And that’s  right, we do, but we never think to look to ourselves and instead we search for the chivalry through the masses.

I quoted Virginia Woolf at the end of my lyrical because her novel, Mrs. Dalloway, taught me more about self-heroism than the entirety of Superhero stories. The self-reflection it had embedded in me forever. You can always be as strong as you are vulnerable, and as much of a damsel as you are the knight. don't allow yourself to be victimized

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Sura Smadi is a part time medical student, full time reader. She believes in empathy's power in changing hearts and eliminating prejudices, to a clinical degree. She hopes to become a forensic physician someday. 

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