Call Me Stephanie

By: Ayiana Uhde

Hi my name is Ayiana

Once upon a time,

I was a young girl

Seeing the world through rose colored glasses

my mother sobbed to herself at the kitchen table

Wondering why

Crying tears that would not relinquish 

depressed feelings

controlled thoughts

Her confidence was stolen 

By a man she loved

And as she cried

She’d continually ask

why?

My father would stand 

Eyes like sand

And watch with disgust and anger

Subtle hints

The way his eyes stared at the television

Body tense

While she ate herself to sleep

The way his eyes took roundtrips 

At every sip 

Of her Diet Pepsi can

And onto the looks of other women, other shady tricks

The way his veins emerged 

And voice trembled the walls

Roaring at the sight

Of her worrisome face in the pitch black of night

Only illuminated by the blue screen

That shed light on the lies he thought he put to bed 

I moved away

I left my old home and my mother locked away

Depression creeped, healing, the biggest feat.

Yet the split did not resonate

A step . . . mother or whatever was introduced

A new face so soon

So what kind of love is really true?

All these thoughts are new

I spoke loud! I spoke true!

My feelings, not so few

Enough to brew up his hatred 

He looks towards me.

A gaze stuck on my skin like slimy grease and sin

“Okay, Stephanie”



Insulted. 

Left alone to cry my tears 

When no one was watching.

to show my weakness was no option.

A competition I won so often.

Yet lost inside, clouded, covered, feeling . . . like nothing

I wrapped my head around for answers

my testimony explained

Detailed and thoughtful

Forgiveness and fault already placed

Yet he boggled with my “mess”

And called excuse 

“You’re just like your mom”

My response and . . . cut in

“Okay Stephanie”

The grease ate at me

Burned through my tissues and stank

Smothered me in my dreams

With pillows of doubt and worry

I could no longer sleep 

Or breathe

But I could eat

“Are you really eating this late, no wonder you’ve gained weight”

My response and . . .

“Okay Stephanie”

Walking on eggshells,

I hid my snacks

Times now be few

don’t want to seem fat

I couldn’t skip dinners so I portioned less

He would say to grab more food, 

I decline

And he says YES

More food on my plate

He acts like it’s a good thing 

so it must be

he insists, I go to grab seconds

And he seems pleasantly dismissed

Something like his 

Fists hits me hard and tackles down my defense 

You eat like a linebacker

You want to lose fat, then eat less

My response

But you give me all this food!

And it tastes so good!

“Okay, Stephanie”

Never compliment the cook.

I cry myself to sleep

Nobody checking in to see

My image, my portrait,

I’m drowning in the deep

Sands that cover his eyes

Years and years of layering grime 

Flinching and shedding with each of his lies

It soaks up inside and I fill with it

I try to dream 

All I see is pain

My head throbs and my body aches

I resist the urges 

To just get up and leave

I’m sure of his thoughts

“I don’t love her

I hate her”

I’m sure of his ever revolving words despite

Never having heard, the truth

For myself I was searching

Inevitably I looked

Disgust.

I don’t love my reflection

I hate my curves

I don’t love my face

I hate the way it relates

I don’t love my personality

I hate my need for community

I don’t love me

I hate me

because being me, causes storming conflicts 

That tear through him like untamed waves at sea

Quit being your mom, but . . .

I look like Stephanie.

I talk like Stephanie.

I love. I love like Stephanie.

Hi my name is Stephanie

Once upon a time was the old me

Since I found that being me isn’t a sin or any sort of conflicting sea

It’s just me. Flesh and body. Call me Stephanie. 

I never gave in

To the depression I was cornered in.

You couldn’t kill me.

Call me Stephanie.

I looked in the mirror and loved myself again. 

When all I had to do was let you leave. 

Call me Stephanie. 

I laughed again without hating the sound. 

I smiled again without forcing it out. 

I talked about my passion without any doubt. 

I told my mom I loved her. 

I cried. She cried. We both let it out.