I have mixed opinions on necklaces.

They might be hatched with gold, platinum, or silver

They might be inlaid with pearls, corals, or diamonds

They might be tailored to short, long, or extra-long.

There is a myriad of necklaces,

each

unique.

When I am wearing a necklace

it feels like I am wearing two copies of myself.

But

My necklaces don’t get to appreciate

their beauty

when they are stuffed in

unorganized jewelry box inside my bathroom

drawer.

wigging through the gold foil cracks between the blue and purple dividers trying to escape.

It is up to me to

untangle

and put them around my neck.

Only when they are untangled,

others get a rudimentary glance of the uniqueness.

I chase this feeling--

reassurance

everything is done for me.

But the real Ivanna

doesn't get untangled by anyone.

Ivanna has to escape her jewelry box

to appreciate her beauty.

No one can untangle her

except herself.

She jotted down her thoughts in a blue diary

on a bedside table next to her bed frame.

Renegade of friends.

Jealousy of preeminence.

Paroxysms of anger.

or

Falling in love.

Banters between best friends.

Precious bonds with parents.

Looking back at her beginning with writing,

When a knot appears in Ivanna’s life,

She writes.

When a knot appears in my life.

I still write.

Writing untangles me

me untangling a necklace.

I think

I chase this feeling more--

power

I am doing everything.

writing is untangling me.