day 14: multitudes

It straddles the two genders my parents believe are the only ones to exist.

It's Romanian,

Czech,

Slovak,

German,

Hebrew,

Bulgarian,

Macedonian,

English,

Persian,

Arabic.

Every definition is short and straightforward, opposite of how I tend to operate.

I'm mostly some variation on a proper noun or other name, but in a few languages I am wise.

I'm from Denmark.

God is my judge, and I'm paying no mind to the sentences I'm racking up in the sky.

I'm distantly related to the dignified river between Jordan and Israel which was given by God.

I'm an oath to God.

I'm the German spelling. I remember someone in fifth grade nicknaming me "German pronounciation" when I told them.

I'm cold.

I'm here.

I'm my least favorite season.

In the first scrapbook chronicling the first ten years of my life that my mother made,

my father had written a timeline for the day I was born.

The last entry reads,

"Too lively to be an Emily,

so we name [me]"

and I felt bad reading it the first time

because I knew enough Emilys

that always had halos behind their heads.

I maintain a feeble light for up ahead

and a fear of--and fascination with--the dark.

If I belong to god (he/him), if he gave me, if he judges me,

make me an angel.

Make me a cherubim with all the heads.

I would Fall,

but bet your Holy Ass I can still fly.