Eulogy
By Bridgitte Thao, 18, Minnesota
Here lies a lesson for all daughters who swim towards stubbornity,
who seek to satisfy that self-indulging instinct,
who selfishly aspire to spotlights that shine on them and them alone.
Born in 200X, this poor maiden
resisted the reasonable instructions of her mother,
insisting on her own silly notions.
This, unfortunately, resulted in her (foreseeable) death.
Due to the circumstances of this passing,
this publication will not provide further information
on the hussy that has died.
Instead, we shall revel in this growing silence.
Good riddance.
Born from that familiar teenage-girl-rage that burns inside us all, I wrote this poem after catching a cold. Although I desperately wanted to go outside, my mother refused to let me out of the house. With nowhere to go, I sat at my desk and typed furiously about an imaginary me who did deign to venture out the house and disobey my mother. This piece is one of many that I wrote under the collection, “I’m in my Emily Dickinson era,” referring to my physical incapacity and sullen state of being. Much like the writers of centuries past, dates in fictional and poetical writing would often contain the letter “X” in place of an actual digit (for whatever reason, I’m not sure. It just looks cool to me).
Instagram: @theebridgitte
