Multiple fish scales ,rounded. They are cold and slimy to the touch, but smooth. Smells god-awful. I see the rainbow colors glint in the sun as I hold up my seawater prize in victory. Finger in the mouth. Teeth are clamping down. Take a picture to remember me and this catch.

Golden scales of justice. Libra identity. Blessing and curses. United States Justice System. Imperfection cloaked in hegemonic thinking. What would Lady Liberty and Lady Justice say to such a misogynistic state? These are powerful women who dictate the currents of our nation. Golden scales weigh heavy, even with nothing on them being measured.

Step on the scale. Heavy heart, heavy weight. Immediately feel not good enough, though immediately at peace with the truth. Understanding comes in quiet mornings in the bathroom on the cold, hard tile. Naked, stepping on that scale. Freezing cold, heart palpitates just a tad. Before the numbers decide their fate. The Great and Powerful Oz. Pay no attention to the math you see before you. But what if gravity has changed? Smell the soap and shampoo and toothpaste of a regular morning. Coffee from the kitchen. I catch a glance of myself in the mirror, but avoid all eye contact.

Free Solo, scaling the rockface with no harness. I would die, plummet to my death with a large thud and that’s it. Break every bone in my back and neck. Sayonara. And as I fall to Earth, my Life will flash before my eyes. And I will see as far as a few moments ago, my sweaty palms (sweating now), gripping the hot stone wall, my sneakered foot losing grip, scratching my nails against stone like right before Scar throws Mufasa into the stampede, how Mufasa scratches and tries to right himself up. God, that emotionally affected me as a kid. But I’d always been told not to cry. So I held it in.

Author: Roe

she/her. Songwriter & Trek Punk Soul™.

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