The Silver Necklace

I found a never-worn piece of jewelry
Inside a box of abandoned childhood belongings.
It was tucked away in its own box,
Branded with the logo of the now-extinct department store
From whence it came…

I have never been a jewelry person.
When I was younger, it was because it was a signifier of ‘woman,’
And I wanted to be anything but.
Later, it was resentment from all the pieces purchased
Against my wishes.

This petite silver necklace sat in the Russian-doll boxes
For who knows how long.
I tried it on.
I rather liked the way it looked.
I tried to rip the tag off, thinking it was a little paper thing.

The unforgiving plastic tag
Warped the metal.

Waves of injustice poured through my body, my torso,
Like an unexpected tsunami.

If I had worn the jewelry sooner, I would’ve already learned this lesson.
I’m not meant for these nice things.
You stupid girl, you ought to know better.

I put the necklace on anyway.
I traced over the slightly warped section,
Hoping the love and agitation from my fingers could undo the
negligent damage done.
In my heart, I vowed to learn from this,
To take it as a lesson that reckless motion can cause permanent disruption.

If you saw the necklace on me,
You’d never notice.

I fear it is all I’ll ever see.

I will trace my regretful fingers across the wounded section over and over,
Fidgeting with the damage,
Making it worse,
Until, one day,
It breaks.
And then, I’ll think,
Serves me right,
It’s all my fault.
It’s always all my fault.