Putting the 'Me' in Melodramatic (Draft)

I stumbled into the lap of the poem God Says Yes to Me, written by Kaylin Haught near the hazy beginning of this semester while perusing my Women's General Studies textbook. I was shrouded in self-disappointment blues, frustrated with myself before I found it. Then when I read the first words, hunkered down in a cafe, wrapped in my text, illuminated by dust sprinkled sunlight, I felt the squeeze of an ethereal hug. If there is one constant in my life, it is the unvoiced question, "Is this ok?" that hinges on my every choice, interaction, or badly framed joke. In this pocket of a moment, I felt the truth of this poem proudly proclaiming the answer to all my social and and personality attempts is "yes!"

I asked God if it was okay to be melodramatic
and she said yes

I asked her if it was okay to be short
and she said it sure is

The words stuck familiar inside me right away. I'd asked God if my melodrama was 'okay' through multiple bouts of sniffles. The immediate personification of God as a woman was unconventional, but I asked God if it was okay for him to be portrayed as a woman for the sake of giving girls a hypothetical divine mother role model, and he said it sure is. I don't believe this poem is propaganda trying to sway my opinion on the gender of God. By using the pronoun 'she', the poem is empowering women to give themselves permission. I personally find myself scampering around to please men as a majority. Every boss I've had, my favorite teachers, many inspirational artists, and anyone I've been in love with, is a man. God is a man. I inspect my work and my actions through their metaphorical monocles. But a woman has a different life experience than a man, regardless of innate or societal origins. This poem is merely pointing out that women are also a source of validation. The bond of women is an empowering force, even in a patriarchy, and God's feminine attributes are as prevalent as masculine.

I asked her if I could wear nail polish
or not wear nail polish
and she said honey
she calls me that sometimes
she said you can do just exactly
what you want to

I fell in love with the casual, succinct phrases. Haught rejected gaudy words of Shakespeare for the colloquial words of friendship. There is no pedestal between the asker and God. In fact, this excerpt convinces me God isn't just personified as a woman conversing with a girl, but as a Mother and a child. 'Honey' is a term of endearment first tied to a mom. I was struck by how effortlessly the poem linked the love of the two together, strengthening the effects of both. The intimacy of a mother is projected onto god, and the limitless power of truth is bestowed on the mother. The choice to plant the words "You can do just exactly what you want" on the cusp of God's lips is vehement. Suddenly the confirmation transcends the culture that says you should wear nail polish. The poem isn't condoning all action--murder is still out of the question. No--in this poem--God is broadening the boa-constrictor like, man-made rules that ruthlessly tell me make-up is always a better choice, curled hair is more important than sleep, and I should spend my scrappy grocery money on nail polish. Every time I read this, I breath deeper with each stanza. It relieves the pesky, air clogging stress tirelessly converting me to the idea that society has discovered the exclusive right answers. 

Thanks God I said
And is it even okay if I don't paragraph
my letters
Sweetcakes God said
who knows where she picked that up
what I'm telling you is
Yes Yes Yes

Again there is an act of defiance from the higher powers that be against these menial rules set in         place. God doesn't care if we paragraph our letters or our prayers. Mothers don't care if letters are properly formatted. God doesn't care if women pluck their brows before they ask for help or not. Moms don't notice a cute outfit if you're barreling into them, crying over an emotional boo-boo. These arbitrary rules are allowed to be ignored. They don't define us as people. The last line is impact-ful because it extends beyond the quarantines of what has been mentioned in the poem. The repetition of three 'yeses' indicate many more to come. Girls everywhere are asking if it's ok to stop shaving their legs, or if they don't get married, if they do get married. God is approving the symbol of choices  prohibited from women in the past, in her relatable vernacular. You don't have to be smart or rich to receive an emphatic, feminist yes from God. 

Despite growing up claiming the title of feminist as one claims the title princess, I am guilty of bound-less girl stereotypes. I loved barbies. I will not touch a bug with my bare flesh. I am wretchedly emotional and melodramatic. My ex-boyfriend repeatedly told me he was a saint for putting up with me four weeks of a month. I feel fat most of the time. All of these qualms I have with myself, I have at some point asked someone, "Is this ok?" Haught's poem affirms so sweetly how the "Yes" applies. Her words are a celebration of differences, and a poetic advertisement to combat the media telling everyone it's not okay, unless you buy this product. I'm encouraged to inquire instead of relying on what I've always known. Instead of just assuming a certain choice would be wrong, the protagonist in the poem asked someone with a cosmic perspective. Since reading over these stanzas, I muse over where and what I seek for validation. My encounter with this poem has molded me into something better.