if it quirks..

she wanted to be good

she always wanted to be good

but she was sloppy

she would paint the walls with black Sharpie ink

stains that grandma couldn’t remove

she took the clay and smeared it into the carpet

mom never let them play with play-doh again

she hid in the kitchen cupboard stealing candy

gobbling gobs of it

she lied about the sweets even when mama could see right through her

she bit her sister and fought like a cat

screaming, spitting, hissing

but she wanted to be good

she ate the sand from the sandbox

even when mama said don’t

she saw herself in the mirror and cried

what a mess

what a waste

how can i be like big sister? she’s always so

obedient

so elegant

so calm

so dutiful

such a worthy child

everything she wasn’t

wild

brazen, clumsy, mischievous, conniving, cunning

liar, liar pants on fire

she was used to mama’s screams of rage

time outs, spankings, scowls, sighs of exasperation

but why was she so backward

she would ask herself

she would ask God to change her

she didn’t know who she would be

years later

Mama said,

“I don’t know how you turned out so well;

you were my wild child;

but you are so wonderful.”