This is for the grey girls. This is for those trapped within the grey that is girl. This is for the blood-stained panties and palms, for the nights you wish you could curl into smoke. This is for the endless hours in dressing rooms and your own diary, trying on terms like “fluid” and “queer,” twirling in front of friends and asking if they make your ass look big, making sure they cover your ass, making sure they cover you. This is for the girls who covered themselves, who hid from speculation they did not want, even when it was from within. This is for the girls who are denied their own truths by those too lazy for grey spaces. This is for the grey girls. This is for the bottles of Grey Goose, for the identities you thought you’d find at the bottom only to discover that empty glasses remind you far too much of mirrors. This is for mirrors. This is for the grey girls who keep staring into them, and who are learning not to flinch.Rachel R. Carroll is a poet, playwright, and creative writing undergraduate student at the University of Southern California. She is originally from Charlotte, North Carolina, and when she is not writing or contra dancing, she spends a considerable amount of time trying to convince her roommates to let her adopt every stray cat she encounters.
