a door locked and unlocked and locked again;
the feeling of picking concrete out of your knees;
your father's footsteps outside of your bedroom door at night,
the loudest sound you've ever heard.

you hold a tadpole in your fist and you love it, for a moment, before it slips out from between your small fingers and back into the water, disappears into the silt.

a door locked and unlocked and locked again;
the feeling of yanking a nail out of the sole of your foot.
your mother's voice cracking into a million little tears as she screams and screams and screams and you don't know what you did wrong but you know you did wrong.

you tie a balloon to your wrist so it cannot float away, but you cut it off to watch it go, and you cry when it is gone.

a door locked and unlocked and locked again;
the feeling of wind rushing past you as you sprint barefoot through the woods;
your father's footsteps outside your bedroom door, still, after all this time, as recognizable to you as your own name, heavy and hurried.

you are only a child and you wear a necklace of thorns, a crown of beer bottle caps, bags under your eyes as dark as sin. you feel heavy.

a door locked and unlocked and locked again.
you feel heavy.

"go," said the girl,
and i went quietly.
"come back," said the girl,
and i came back quietly.
"go" and "come back" and "go" again,
and i did.
"weep," she said,
and i wept.
again and again and again and again.

become immovable,
a wall of unimaginable strength
too tall to see over and
too wide to walk around.
become undeniable;
do not mewl,
howl.
become so vast you cannot be looked past, shoulders so broad you cannot be held with one arm.
do not drown yourself in the tide of a man who would not **** on you if you were burning.
cultivate a culture of talking back. cornering. countering.
refusing and defying.
become unwavering.
become brave.
become angry.
become loud.
not because you are bitter but because you deserve the things you've been denied.
become immovable.

lesbians will want to write about your hands
the way they wrap around warm cups of tea
and clench and unclench with rage and pride
she'll notice the delicate length of your fingers
how they feel pressing and bruising into soft flesh
the art they make, the stories they create
the blood sprouted from knuckles in societal protest
their kindness, their firmness, their warmth
lesbians memorize every mark and line of them
how they never strike her
how they settle in her own, how they feel inside her
how you use them to clasp your bra and pin up your hair
the way you draw them together, how they fold into you
when they touch to your lips, when they touch to hers
how they pass through her barriers, sneak under shirts
wake her from sleep, lull her to rest, appear in her dreams
lesbians will take them in her own
hold them to her mouth, her breast, her heart
wonder what they are doing at any time of the day
feature them in fantasies and daydreams
claim them as her own, as if they were hers
love them when they shake and when they are steady
she'll want your hands to be her hands and hers to be yours
interchangeable, familiar, worshiped