A Gentlewoman's Marginalia

written by delikately

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a whole lot of not

by delikately

i sat like someone who googled ‘how to sit normal’ hands? lap? who knows they offered me wine. i asked, “will this help me level up in conversation?” they laughed like i was joking, i wasn’t, but that’s worse ah i’m not elegant, poised, or composed i just sit like an afterthought in a thrifted outfit and I’m still debugging how to be aesthetic with intent-to-impress subroutine i come with instructions, but no one can read them they say just act like a woman but what does that mean? maybe that’s woman enough, maybe it’s not but I’ve got sharp wit, soft socks and a whole lot of not. sometimes I try to mirror their charm like the girls in shampoo ads with swan-shaped arms my ankles don’t cross, they negotiate truce between dignity, gravity, and slightly tight shoes- ah he said I was mysterious, like a painting in a frame I was just zoning out and forgot his name and i’m still debugging how to be aesthetic with intent-to-impress subroutine i come with instructions, but no one can read them they say just act like a woman but what does that mean? my mother said I’d “blossom” i guess that was a threat i bloomed into a potted plant that talks to herself on the internet ah i’m a loop that won’t resolve i’m more like a question mark in a dress who curtsies like a crash test they say, “just act like a woman” but no one explains maybe that’s woman enough, maybe it’s not but I’ve got sharp wit, soft socks and a whole lot of not. oh-oh, oh-oh, oh-oh.

a lady might suppose

by delikately

i was polite to a fault and the fault, predictably, was mine i danced with the wrong men just to keep up appearances downed champagne too quickly so i’d have an excuse to leave there’s a cruelty in being admired and completely untouched a lady might suppose she’s easier to read than to reach like a book on the shelf no one wants to bend the spine of they say i captured love but only after it left they underline my endings and skip the part where i waited i wanted less than forever and still it was too much had i the nerve, i’d have said: “hey — if you’re gonna disappear, can you at least spell my name right in the memory?” i kept my coat on just to feel wanted by something you were staring at the wallpaper like it owed you an apology maybe it did there’s a violence in being looked at by eyes that never intend to stay a lady might suppose she’s easier to read than to reach like a book on the shelf no one wants to bend the spine of they say i captured love but only after it left they underline my endings and skip the part where i waited no one ever said “you first” or “stay,” like they meant it i’ve always been the chapter just before it gets good so i write it all down then cross out the ending another book closed another lesson still pending a lady might suppose she’s tragic in the right light like an oil painting hung just high enough to miss the cracks they speak of romance as if it bore my signature they quote my lines but not the questions underneath i wanted less than forever but apparently, that was too much i’ve read a thousand endings not one wrote me in

ode to Keatsian religion

by delikately

you left your umbrella in my foyer the one with the splintered spine and oxford stripes i made room for it on the coat rack right beside your theoretical fidelity you never called me yours but i updated my email signature just in case “warm regards, the girl who’d gladly be your thesis disaster” oh, i’m still kneeling on your welcome mat like it’s all unpaid bills and bad habits call it religion or just bad taste in men first editions and commitment issues oh, you said “this isn’t church” but i’ll bring wine and a sin i can’t shake i’ll cross myself when your name shows up left you notes in philosophy’s aisle if love’s a keatsian religion i’m canonized — girl who tried your indifference, an altar i light candles to it every night you never called me yours but i rewrote my voicemail in your cadence “best wishes, the girl who mistook debate club for intimacy” oh, i’m still kneeling on your welcome mat like it’s all unpaid bills and bad habits call it religion or just bad taste in men first editions and commitment issues oh, you said “this isn’t church” but i’ll bring wine and a sin i can’t shake i’ll cross myself when your name shows up keats wrote: “i could die for you” and honestly, i almost did on the stairs you held the door at was it gallantry? or state-mandated courtesy? either way, i saw god he looked like you in a barbour jacket oh, i’m still kneeling on your welcome mat like it’s hallowed ground for poor judgment you were always more myth than man i just gave it a syllabus you said, “this isn’t love” but i still bring candles and a quiet psalm to the church of your elbow on my pillow if this is faith, then i’ve backslid tastefully and if keats can die for a girl who barely replied then maybe this is holy too

wrong in all the right ways

by delikately

wrong in all the right ways mm, i don’t really know how i come off i think i look fine but people look off i say smart things at the wrong time then say nothing and that feels worse, sometimes i ask too much, i notice too deep i never learned how to play it sweet, ooh first impressions don’t favor me i come off like a quiz with no answer key too sharp, too strange, too hard to label i enter a room and the vibe adjusts to something between “who invited her?” and “she’s the kind to ruin the moment asking what you’re feeling” a woman wrong in all the right ways mm, i always notice when no one replies then i act like i didn’t, which makes it worse my voice is too low, my laugh’s too dry i memorize faces, they forget mine ha i don’t glide like the other girls do i bump into chairs and think things through, ooh first impressions don’t favor me i come off like a quiz with no answer key too sharp, too strange, too hard to label i enter a room and the vibe adjusts to something between “who invited her?” and “she’s the kind to ruin the moment asking what you’re feeling” a woman wrong in all the right ways i’ve been told i should “smile more” but i already am just internally, where it’s safer. and funnier. mm, first impressions don’t favor me second ones don’t show up easily tried to flirt once, corrected his grammar he called me intense i ask too much, i notice too deep i never learned how to play it sweet a woman wrong in all the right ways still, i think i’m kind of nice in the way forgotten postcards are a little bent, but full of stars

mutually assured disinterest

by delikately

we stared at each other like two mirrors trying not to reflect i told you to get lost — you asked, “which direction?” then rsvp’d to the same event you said, “don’t flatter yourself” i said, “i wouldn’t dare” sparks were never subtle i hate you — in a clinically significant way you hate me too? let’s not label it i loathe you enough to adjust my tone you loathe me enough to check the time then we split the bill like a cold war each of us hoping to be the one who pays we never say what we mean but we always mean what we say — too late call it what you want i call it tuesday we’re not dating we sat three feet apart like it was court-mandated still, your knee kept twitching every time i said your name you said, “try harder” i said, “i’d rather die” then we nearly said something we both would’ve regretted i hate you — in a clinically significant way you hate me too? let’s not label it i loathe you enough to sit across from you you loathe me enough to glance, then look away then we split the bill like a cold war each pretending we don’t want to stay we never say what we mean but we always mean what we say — too late call it what you want i call it tuesday we’re both pretending to be unbothered while fact-checking each other’s restraint whoever confesses first loses checkmate is for cowards we’re just two repressed disasters orbiting sincerity pretending not to notice how loud the tension’s gotten i hate you — and your well-reasoned counterpoints you hate me too? that’s character growth we exchanged glares like academic currency you act like a deadline — and i missed you on purpose mutually assured disinterest matching smirks, deadlocked in denial espionage of the heart he calls me impossible but never walks away first i hate him “so where are we meeting next week?”

the clara code

by delikately

i never raised my hand in school tried once, thought i had it right the teacher said, “can you say that louder?” i froze the boy beside me heard it said it instead, and they praised him guess i'm not the loudest voice just the one who sings quietly so no one hears me saying "is it still genius if no one lets it be?" guess i pulled a clara again played myself into the background noise they let me play, but not too much clapped like they were being polite said i should've stayed in my lane so i took my brain out for a run and we both agreed to keep it small less noise, less trouble, less talk someone said i'd peak at twenty which felt rude, and also kind of weird weird, right? i laughed, then cried, then laughed again the mirror didn’t mind guess i'm not the loudest voice just the one who sings quietly so no one hears me saying "is it still genius if no one lets it be?" guess i pulled a clara again ah-huh played myself into the background noise they let me play, but not too much clapped like they were being polite said i should've stayed in my lane so i took my brain out for a run and we both agreed to keep it small less noise, less trouble, less talk saying, "is it still genius if no one lets it be?" i think i peaked in black-and-white or in a time that never was they called it genius when i shut up called it jealousy when i spoke i used to file my edges off now i just keep ’em in folders fold my heartbreak into chord changes and inside jokes no one gets no one gets guess i pulled a clara again played myself into almost something they let me play, yeah, just enough to say they “gave me space” said i had “potential” but not the kind that makes a dent not quite so i took my brain out for a walk and we talked a bit then just... didn’t go back

lady chaperoned

by delikately

the room smelled like varnish and expectation. the window watched more than the man did. curtains that eavesdropped laced up tight in linen decency. bit my tongue so often, it's basically a skill now. you can minor in “knowing better” but you’ll major in “don’t say it.” was chaperoned like wine in a locked room. you could taste it, but not too soon. passed from gloved hand to gloved hand, like decor. lady—chaperoned. lady—never alone. i was watched. i was warned. i was worn thin. fine print of femininity. teacup grip, afternoon smile. i curtsied through the cautions. eyes skating the trim, measuring slip-ups, counting how i breathed. walked like the room was a jury. sat like i’d been coached by an interior designer. was chaperoned like wine in a locked room. you could taste it, but not too soon. passed from gloved hand to gloved hand, like decor. you learn to pose like a portrait, framed in virtue like a do not touch exhibit. safe, sweet, and devastatingly decorative. never been alone, but i’ve definitely been lonely. escorted through my own coming-of-age. miss etiquette, minor edition. haute decor. and somewhere between the hymnal and the hallway, stopped asking who’s watching who.

enchantress of numbers

by delikately

ada lovelace, my numbers’ enchantress drawn in spirals, frayed at the edges from too much logic and not enough sleep god, you make madness look so chic mm, they footnoted your name like an apology buried you beneath diagrams and soft piano music but i see you, oh-oh in the way i second-guess brilliance in the way i talk too fast then wish i hadn’t said anything your mind was too much for their drawing rooms imagined machines while wearing a corset that’s punk, if you ask me not that anyone did we’re not the pretty kind of smart not cute-laugh-at-his-joke smart we’re diagram-on-a-napkin mid-dinner kind of smart the don’t-interrupt-me, i’m mid-idea smart they footnoted your name like an apology buried you beneath diagrams and soft piano music but i see you, oh-oh in the way i second-guess brilliance in the way i talk too fast then wish i hadn’t said anything your mind was too much for their drawing rooms imagined machines while wearing a corset that’s punk, if you ask me not that anyone did ah, ada, i’d time travel just to sit with you lose politely in binary when you said your brain was “more than mortal” i believe you i believe you because mine won’t shut up either i carry every unspoken thing like it’s data taught not to cry, just calculate as if math could redraw your father’s face but i see you, oh-oh in the way i second-guess brilliance in the way i talk too fast then wish i hadn’t said anything your mind was too much for their drawing rooms imagined machines while wearing a corset that’s punk, if you ask me not that anyone did ada lovelace, i see you i’d time travel just to sit with you lose politely in binary mine won’t shut up either

letter opener

by delikately

wasn’t mine to open but i did. the drawer creaked like it knew me thin envelope, spine bent something breathing inside. opened it regretted it memorized it. i wasn’t supposed to know but i knew. read it like a prayer for the wrong god, a map that led straight through me. draped in good fabric, high collar, bruises under the lace not violence, just that heavy kind of watching that makes you feel like a crime. she me;— someone easier to blame smelled like someone’s wife in the wrong decade. legs crossed, eyes down, dress like a secret every inch rehearsed, but the gaze still found a way in. opened it regretted it memorized it. i wasn’t supposed to know but i knew. each word a handprint on a wrist i forgot, each comma a pause you held too long. what is guilt if no one names it? what is memory if no one admits it? what is shame if it’s not mine but still fits? read it like a map to the version of me. my name no — someone else’s, but it looked like mine. then blamed the softness, then punished it for being felt, for being there. i folded it the way you taught me without knowing. tucked it behind the hymnals, under the floorboards. i bleed like dusk across the sea too vast to hold, too deep to name. too deep to name. too deep to name. too deep to name. too deep to name.

postscript from kraków

by delikately

i watch love from the sidelines like it’s foreign cinema, no subtitles read austen, sure. brontë too none of them taught how to breathe near somebody my dream guy’s probably dead or lost in translation, or quoting baudelaire i’m kafka’s letter that never got sent a longing with no return address oh—oh, write me back write me back someone just write me from kraków mean every word oh, write me back from the other side of europe love me like keats did like he knew he wouldn’t last if love’s a plot, mine’s still on page one tangled in epigraphs and hypotheticals i want a love that’s clumsy, fierce, and true not polished till it’s flawless—flawed in awe my dream guy’s probably dead or lost in translation, or quoting baudelaire i’m kafka’s letter that never got sent a longing with no return address oh—oh, write me back write me back someone just write me from kraków mean every word oh, write me back from the other side of europe love me like keats did like he knew he wouldn’t last googled “how to flirt” tried the eye contact thing held doors open dramatically even dropped my pen once—nothing no slow-motion, no soundtrack just me, extra in the background holding someone else’s purse while they kiss the plotline goodbye i still watch love from the sidelines still kafka’s envelope, unstamped but i’m folding it, sealing it leaving space for a name write me back if you’ve ever felt the same love me like keats did like he knew he wouldn’t last ah, hmm oh—oh, write me back write me back