It’s not a remarkable rarity,
Not a ruby reflecting the rays
Of the sun, indeed, serendipity
Is like salt in the Monterey Bay.

It’s the dollar you find in your pocket,
It’s the hummingbird visiting home—
The song you would keep in a locket
If you could, for it plays like a poem.

You needn’t be lucky to find it,
It is not a matter of chance.
Open your eyes, be unblinded
And you’ll see it in every glance.

The moon, the stars, the heavens on high
Are not hidden—simply look up to the sky.

He kisses her like the breath you take
After sinking underwater.

She kisses him like a forest fire—
The way the flame caresses wood and grass
Consumed in a little sunrise.

The wave crashes into the shore.

It smells like salt, blue and briny,
It feels like sand on your skin.

The gulls cry overhead, but they
Cannot compete with the
𝘴𝘩𝘩, 𝘒𝘚𝘏𝘏𝘏, 𝘴𝘩𝘩, 𝘒𝘚𝘏𝘏𝘏, 𝘴𝘩𝘩.

Eleven-years-old should be bold and boyful
Joyful, jelly beans and snow on Christmas
Robert Frost’s birches, swinging on branches
Latching to hopes that have yet to become.

Seventeen should be dreaming, dress-up as grown-up
Growing and grinning and racing the time—
Sprint to the finish, and then look behind
Hours to minutes and seconds to breaths.

But his face had roundness that gave way to edges,
Glittering, forged from the weight of the press
How much can you take away from the boy?
You take and you take until there’s nothing left.

He howled at night, at the stars and the sky
He’d have pulled down the moon, if only he could
And he should, he ought to have clawed down the heavens
For the hole gaping wide, for a god who deserts.

And still, though he trembled, sweat slicking his skin
When he saw you watching, he gave you a grin.
It was tender, titanium, tenacious and thin
And tremulous, breaking apart in the wind.

His fingers pressed into the dirt and the dice
Then he gazed at you, O Fate, like a vise
His heart made of gold but his eyes made of ice
And he told you, O Fate:
“𝑵𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒈𝒂𝒊𝒏.”

Today, I cried at a funeral.

But it wasn’t sadness that did it—
Sadness lounged on the horizon
Too distant to touch.

No, it was the
White-hot, scalding of the spotlight
The eyes, the many eyes, the
Hands pressed to mine, stamping in a
“Sorry for your loss.”
A tattoo, or a brand.

And then I felt it, familiar friend:
The tightness rising like bile, wrapping
Its serpentine fingers around my windpipe,
Around my vocal cords,
Squeezing, squeezing, until nothing but a
Whisper
Remained in my chest, my throat,
My lips, my teeth.

Sadness floated in my periphery, like the
Sun, too bright for me to gaze but the
Tightness lingers close enough to murmur
In my ear,
“You should be.”

i imagine you sprawled across your bed
ankles crossed in the air, hair
falling in strands out of your neon
ponytail, bent over some graphic novel
that looks like it’s seen the bottom
of a backpack far too many times.

i imagine you have one of those smiles,
the kind that blooms soft and slow
across your cheeks like a lily, Louyse.

Lily Louyse, i see you upside-down on the
monkeybars, grinning like it all means nothing,
like the fire is long-gone, no smoke in the
air.
not anymore.

but the fire once was, we both know.

it burned your eyes as you shook
body wracked with a million papercuts
a million scars only you could see.
it licked your palms as you
clawed
at the darkness, wishing for some answer
some semblance-of-self.
i see you curled in a ball on the floor
silently begging the world for—
oh, i don’t know.
all I know is i’ve done, felt, screamed
the same.

but i have this strange feeling that
you peeled yourself up and gathered
each scrap ripped like a banned book
and taped yourself together
with shaking fingers.
and then you floated downstairs and
let the television drown out those
stupid, stupid thoughts and
smiled as kate winslet embraced the
sky—“i’m flying!”—
and i have this strange feeling that you will be
okay.

When I was kid,
I’d look up at the sky and wave
At the airplanes passing by,
I’d wave down from an airplane
Hung up high,
I’d wave and think myself seen.
I remember being seven years old and
The hot air balloon operator said
To keep all limbs inside the vehicle
And my parents kept nudging me to the middle–
Safe and nested.
But I didn’t stay there for long, no
I pushed out to the edge, on tiptoes to
Look down at the great big
Everything.
Only half the thrill is fear of falling.
The rest is how it feels to float.

oh, don’t worry, you’ll find them.
you’ll know them by the stitch
in your side, bent over shaking with
laughter,
the day you miss the bin and
the carton sails straight
into some poor, unsuspecting soul.
you’ll know them by their side-eye,
that single-second, inside joke—
hair-braiding, thumb wars,
secrets whispered in the dark.
and one day, a boy will break
your heart but they will roast that boy
like a marshmallow over a fire.
you’ll know them by the
unbreakability
of a pinky promise,
by the knee-****, camera-flash joy.
you’ll know on the nights so late
that even taco bell is closed,
by the three-hundred bad pictures
of you on their phones.
it’s sticky leather seats in the summer,
all mess and love and side-by-side.
and when four years are past,
caps tipped, turned, and tossed
and you’re standing in a football field with
a runny nose and wet-streaked cheeks,
you’ll know them by the way it
aches
to wave goodbye, to go home because
you’re not 𝘨𝘰𝘪𝘯𝘨 home at all—
you just left it.

black spores on the mildewed walls
peeling over the wood
rot that even the vultures shun
it grows in cracks and in dark places.

the disease sticks its spiny fingers
down your throat, so you can’t
scream…
silence, silence, it wants
silence.
it wants
absence,
no self left to 𝘣𝘦.

outside, it has been night for years
babes born bawling, not knowing
what stars, moon, sky, sun used to
look like, nothing but the concrete
sea.

and yet, though Purity
has her headstone with the
rest, though there are no longer
prayers
to be blessed
there is good,
there is GOD in this
God-forsaken world,
there is GOOD
there is GOD—
you.

nothing but a scrap
of paper from a make-up catalog
saying,
“Real Flawless™”

but here i am,
unable to stop
thinking
about what it markets to me
what it asks of me
what it stipulates to be
true.

“Real Flawless”

modern day doublethink:
“my body is mine but
Yours
to look at and
Yours
to judge and so i shape it
to the eye that is
Yours—
i am proud though i make myself
small”

“Real Flawless”

mandatory affirmations, prayers more like,
repeat repeat repeat
how much i love myself even
as i consume comparisons
and then calculate the calories.

“Real Flawless”

the only reason
beauty is pain is
because it tears
us in two.

Knit you a sweater
Knit us together
Together by dawn
Together by dusk
Dusk and cicadas
Dusk is a blanket
Blanket in blue
Blanket in music
Music hums soft
Music for nights
Nights like this
Nights in spring
Spring with rain
Spring with flowers
Flowers by porch
Porch well-loved
Porch with wood
Wood swing and chairs
Wood swing sways
Sways like dancers
Sways like strands
Strands of hair
Strands that curl
Curl your fingers
Curl ‘round mine
Mine for now
Mine to keep
Keep you close
Keep me safe
Safe to touch
Safe in here
Here we lay
Here we breathe
Breathe in sync
Breathe out words
Words like poems
Words like rivers
Rivers running
Rivers rushing
Rushing forward
Rushing out
Out my lips
Out to yours
Yours for years
Yours always
Always you
Always me
Me…
You.

i press the button, nothing, shake
it, nothing still, press and hold, nothing,
nothing but black screen, try again,
plug it in—where’s my plug?
no plug, no plug, it’s gone and
all that’s left is the darkness…how will
they know? how will they know i’m alive
and i care? how will they survive if I
cannot reply 24/7, 400 days a year? how will
they know i exist and i matter if i cannot remind
them, remind in a buzz and a banner,
remind them that i am still here? just a
few hours but in those few hours i will cease
to exist because i do not exist unless you
see me.

it’s the sound of a city if everyone died,
as empty as pity in pitiless eyes.

This is the law that supersedes all
Other laws:
Thou shalt not complain.

Thou shalt have a successful career
𝘢𝘯𝘥
Shalt be a perfect mother.

Thou shalt be innocent and experienced,
Rebellious—
But not too much.

Thou shalt never need help.

Thou shalt never age
Yet maintain a veneer
Of self-acceptance.

Thou shalt not be overly
Emotional
But thou art not permitted to be
Robotic.

Thou shalt be assertive
But lo upon the woman
Who dares express anger.

Thou shalt have infinite patience.

Thou shalt be progressive without
Challenging the status quo.

Thou shalt carry thy burdens with
Immeasurable strength and without
Disintegration or failure.

And ye shalt do these things, that
Ye might become the 21st Century
Woman.

“Thank God that they fight over mites,”
Remarks bourgeoisie’s Big Brother.
Proles’ one tool is each other, but
It’s always night if you’ve short sight.

A sea of silent people with
Zippers instead of lip and teeth
So long it’s been since they’ve unzipped
They calcified like coral reef
And sometimes it is hard to breathe
When your captor is a feeling.
Their words are knives stuck in their sheathes,
At nightfall, they dream of screaming.

Their shoulders slumped, they knew that if
They sang or sighed or gave a speech
Before it was too late, their scythe
Would never have to reap and reap
And reap, but no, they sowed the seed,
If only they’d been believing
But they dug a grave, where they sleep
At nightfall, to dream of screaming.

Their kids don’t cry, instead, they writhe
Inheriting their voiceless grief
No words to soothe the kind of life
That never, ever knows relief
As it was stolen by a thief
And his name is Never Needing.
Their fear, it thrums to its own beat
At nightfall, they dream of screaming.

They waste away, they cannot eat
But now, death itself is freeing.
Their dreams once were the sun and sea—
Tonight, they just dream of screaming.

the flower has eyes
and she watches
as her pale petals curl and
turn brown on the edges, she
watches as she wilts, as her leaves
start to dry, she watches
as the parts of her she used
to admire start to fall, piece by
piece, and she watches as she
disintegrates,
becoming the dirt and she watches as
the housekeeper sees her and frowns and
then throws her away into the
trash.
she watches as she becomes
trash.
and she cannot save herself.

the bone-ache of wind and cold
runs up her legs as she walks through the plain
so she could rest in the earth and finally
sleep, knowing she found
something better than it was
before.

she searched the jungles once
but all she found were choking vines
still, the leaves whispered
𝘱𝘴𝘴𝘵, 𝘱𝘴𝘴𝘵, 𝘱𝘴𝘴𝘵
but the tip of their tongues faded
into static and she thought she found
a parchment’s glass bottle washed
up onto the shore but then the sea
leapt up and stole it again.

she sat on the beach for hours
like a long-lost lover, yearning and
waiting
but one day she vanished—
not to home, there was never
home, but to a place that replaced
her new loss with the ones she’d
met before, old friends with the other half
of the story.

now, she walks with the others’
manifest destinies but hers is a
glory that they’ll never know,
no gold or God or greatness but
an answer…
brushstrokes to give definition
though the edges always bleed,
so she reincarnates to do it all
again.

I think it is a good day
I feel okay, and that’s all
I feel, no sense of greatness
Nor self-hatred, no free-fall.

I look into the mirror
No fear, just looking as I
Realize that I have acne
But it’s me and I feel fine.

Right now, I am just okay
But one day, I will appear
From silk and I will be her
From those words, so far but near.

On the windowsill, all flailing
Legs and desperation—
At times, it attempts to fly
Away, but soon enough it gives
That up as if to say,
“I can’t.”

The movements get smaller and
Slower, but occasionally there are bouts
Of hysteria
(𝙒𝙃𝙔 𝙈𝙀)
Until eventually nothing is left but a
Feeble twitch and really the question
That you should be asking is:
“Is it still alive?”

It is still alive.

It is still alive but it is tired.

Slowly…
Slowly…
Slowly…

i race across the boardwalk and
i taste the waves,
throw my phone into the ocean and
find some form of freedom—
whatever’s left will do! I’d do
anything to find out who i’m supposed
to be, i guess that should be me,
but i’ve never met that girl
(𝘪𝘴 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘯𝘪𝘤𝘦?)
so instead i keep running and
you might ask from what but
only the Lord knows that and maybe
my tide-worn mother too but once
she tried to tame the frizz out
of my hair but it didn’t work because
she never expected to have a firecracker
for a daughter, 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘭𝘥𝘯’𝘵 𝘨𝘦𝘵 𝘢𝘯 𝘦𝘹𝘵𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘶𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳
𝘪𝘯 𝘵𝘪𝘮𝘦, but i left that all behind so i could
race across the boardwalk
and taste the waves, but now
i am here and somehow the salt
tastes bitter.

𝐈
𝐍ever
𝐅igured that
𝐀
𝐓eensy tiny
𝐔ndeveloped
𝐀ttraction would
𝐓urn
𝐈nto
𝐎vert
𝐍ausea

delicate as snowfall brushing your cheek
and wind flowing through on an open-topped peak
but when you go home, when you go home
the warmth washes it all away.

when it captures you, raptures and
seizes your soul, you feel it take hold and
suddenly
you cannot recall
what once was cold and no longer is
but still, a silent strange feeling
lingers
until you are left with your tremors, your
trembling—
the imprint, the mark of a melody.

“Thanks for asking, but 𝑰
am fine, just a little tired.
𝑪𝒂𝒏’𝒕 complain, you know?
Everybody gets a bit
stressed sometimes, what with
all that we’ve got to 𝒅𝒐.
It’s not like 𝒕𝒉𝒊𝒔 is any different
than any other day, any other person.
𝑺𝒐𝒎𝒆𝒃𝒐𝒅𝒚 somewhere has it far
worse than I do, so don’t feel sorry
for me. No, 𝒔𝒂𝒗𝒆 your compassion
for a person who really needs it, not
𝒎𝒆.”

on the edge
of this ravine, I’ve stood
so long that the grass has grown
between my toes, moss hanging off
my fingers in tendrils,
wildflowers in my hair,
but today it is time to move.

the darkness yawns wide, though
it wasn’t always this way.
once, it was a child—
like all grown-ups once were.
once, it was just a crack in the dirt,
the product of a thousand tiny
earthquakes.

when i was a child, running
free as the wind,
i stumbled to a stop at its cusp.

i became afraid like a
fawn turns to a deer with
wide, wide, wide eyes
darting around as the fish
in a crystal sea.
i spent all my years, frozen
there until the chasm grew and so
did i.

but today, i take the leap.

i shake off the dust and replace
it with steel, steel drum for a heart with
a beat for every step,
one foot in front of the other picking
up speed, until suddenly i am
f l y i n g.

fear?
in another life, perhaps.

Daredevil laid dead
Dialed aid, leave dread
Viral liar lived idle
Vile drivel, aired live.

Evil idea, veiled lie
Real Reel, diva died
Dire dealer, ever realer
Revived, live, revived, dead
Revealed vivid red.

Redial, aid evaded arrival—
DRIVE, DRIVE, DRIVE!!
Evil deed, via viral
Reel, red river.

A triangle block in a square hole.
I manage to fit but there’s still
Something missing.

The uncanny valley of personhood.
I blend in just enough to
Stand out.

I use it as a weapon and so do they.

sometimes your heart
stretches
its seams and you have to
pour it all out before it
bursts.

i can feel it now…
but i take the sharpened end
of my pencil tip and i pierce
a hole in my heart so that i do not
explode and then implode again like
a supernova, then a black hole,
crushing in on myself.

but i take that pencil tip and i
slip it through the hole until it is
all crimson dripping,
perfect! now i can write all of it
write it all out so that i never overfill
again.

oh no.

it does not erase.

Can I tell you a secret?

Sometimes my jaw hurts from
Smiling
So much.

The room is filled with voices, the din
Of a kitchen in the back of an echo chamber
And none of them know the way I ache
Because all I do is
Smile.

They don’t know—
They don’t know that I go home
Exhausted
From this constant, grand performance.

They do not know I am a liar.

I touch the fingers of the girl in the
Glass as I wash off the makeup and
Study the acne scars underneath.

I’m a tornado in a bottle but you
Grasp my glass cage and you
𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘌 𝘚𝘏𝘈𝘒𝘌
You take me by the (bottle) neck and you
Toss me flying in the air and catch
Me again, flirting with death like life
Is a game, and I’m telling you—
I’m telling you—
𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘐𝘛, 𝘚𝘛𝘖𝘗 𝘐𝘛, 𝘓𝘐𝘚𝘛𝘌𝘕—

shattered glass bloodstains
no tears but shock freezing the lines
on your face pick up the pieces
no don’t let it cut your fingers.
sorry. sorry.
sorry. sorry. sorry.

Confidence used to be
Like a shelf I couldn’t ever quite
Reach.

But turns out, I just needed to
Get up off of my
Knees.

you said “maybe
if you
          let it out
a little
         more
you wouldn’t
       explode.”

But
        you
                don’t
understand.
    ­            I
                    cannot
      let it out
                  slowly
like air from a
                       balloon.

all too much it’s all too much it’s always too much it’s too much too much too much too much too much too too too too too too t

It was such
Fine stitching.
Beautiful scenes and
Vibrant colors and
Lovely textures and
Art.

Oh, art!

But then we just had to
Turn it around and see
Its tangled underbelly, its
Mistakes and messy messy messy
knots.
—YOU WEREN’T SUPPOSED TO SEE THAT—
i’m sorry, please, i’m sorry.

Just-
just-
turn it over all we have to do is—
NO.

You are what you eat
And you write what you read.

I have never read the greats
Except an occasional poem for class,
And I feel like a heretic for saying that.

I’ve never willingly
Read Shakespeare or E.E. Cummings
But instead:

I read the words of online poets
Consuming their ink—
Or should I say pixels?
I graze their crimson lining as they
Turn themselves inside out to
Let the whole internet see.

I rise with the wave that they weave with their words
And then when it crashes, when it crashes down
I go under as if drowning was velvety soft and I
Let it wash me onto the shore.

You are what you eat and
You write what you read.

Rarely do I read stilted lines and perfect form
So I write like a mess and a surge and a storm.

We ran
From something
Unseen. We were
Two, a man and a woman  

River flowed red
He is steel. And her tears
Bullets. We are
Bayonets and gun barrels  

The earth flourished
With steel, straight statues
Of trees and undergrowth
A perennial memorial  

Buried, we were
Under the earth
Meant to last forever
Meant to simply be  

Red silence
Enveloped the world
My brothers...
Glided between the trees  

Creatures joined
Those of all kinds, prowl
Across the land
Around their brothers  

The earth split
We are the valleys. Gashes
Along the veins of the earth
Runs red like streams and fountains  

Wounds dried and flaking
Freely beasts roamed
Lands demarcated
Trampled, trodden  

We are echoes
Within the canyons. We stalk
Like spirits, like steel
Behind fervor, behind craze  

They lost
Time was forgotten
Time was reclaimed
Remade  

We do not know time
We do not sow
We do not reap
We do not see
We do not hear  

The world is never silent
But the underground is  

How would you feel
If you knew that
The world was hollow
Held up by rifles...

In my bones, I am a poet
And every word I trail shows it
Like a fingerprint to trace
Conjures an image of my face.

Any essays, I might write
With golden flourish, thrilling heights
With wide crescendos, rumbling frisson
Soft like silk and smooth like ribbon.

So when my teacher does request
A lab report or written test
I may bring tears to their eyes—
Still, I did not get it right.

I am being drawn and quartered
By each expectation pulling away,
Tugging at my fragile sense
Of identity (if there ever was one)
Until suddenly, oh no! So suddenly
I am in pieces, and each person has only
A part of myself, that is all I can give—
I gave myself the death sentence, they’re
Only the horses that tear away my
Skin.

As they bolt away, I wonder
How far they will go until they
Realize
That I am no longer Whole.

I sit here sinking
Into the dirt,
Without feeling because I am on
The precipice of numbness,
A mere step away from screaming.

A noisy impatient fly
Humming by my ear like the fluorescent light overhead
Near imperceptible, but in the silence, grating
As it sung out, buzz, buzz, buzz, out of itself,
Always droning, never a pause in the incessant
Static.

And you, O my soul, where you sit,
Trapped in a cocoon of web, never quite alone
But immovably stagnant, perhaps once learning, chasing, dancing, Seeking that elusive something,
Till exhausted by the endless journey, only ever wishing
For a home
That you never found, but barely existing you continue, O my soul.

Everybody seems
Terrified of what will happen
When one person or another
Wins this election
And it matters so much
But not so much that you
Need to scream at others telling
Them what to believe, who to
Vote for.

I want to say, “IT DOESN’T MATTER!”
Because we 𝘬𝘯𝘰𝘸 that they will do nothing.
The president is only a single part
Of a single branch
And no one listens to them anyway.
These people may be dangerous
But they are effectively ineffective
And the greatest danger of all
Is how we choose to treat each other,
And no president can change that—
No president can take away this basic
Human decency.

So let us all
Vote personhood
For president.

Let us all look the
Fearmongers in their eyes
And say: 𝘐 𝘢𝘮 𝘯𝘰𝘵 𝘢𝘧𝘳𝘢𝘪𝘥.

I am but a specter—
An apparition, immaterial and gauzy,
Gossamer and ghostly,
Hardly even there.

When I leave,
They do not notice.

When I stay,
They do not notice.

I am as the pleasant music,
Playing in the background.
Enjoyed when present, seldom missed
When all that fills the silence is
Their voices, chattering like birds
Above the sea, without me.

I am as the cheerful actress,
Seen but never known.
I say my lines without a flaw
Unbelievably real, so the audience
Believes that they know my soul,
The marrow of my bones and the essence
Of what my heart pumps through my veins,
But the things they know are as curated
As these words upon the page.

When your heart races,
Rushing out of a dream,
And words leave spaces
And lines in between,
Where your heart heals
To be shattered again,
Like oceans surreal
Once the reverie ends,
Frantically you strain
To let yourself sink,
With a mind soiled, stained,
And brimming with ink.

they never **** the main character.

but i am not the main character.

i am replaceable like batteries,
only useful for some time,
never really necessary, just nice
to have around.

but i know that i did this to myself.

people never care about a character
without flaws.
and i made sure not to burden everyone else
with my pain and my worries and failures.
i made sure to not need them
and now they do not need me.

i managed to avoid vulnerability
and i managed to avoid closeness
and i managed to avoid potential damage
only to waste away.

The loveliness in the sky reminds
me that these clouds do pass with time.
This morning, it was dewy and dark—
drearily doomish, sullen and stark
but now the sun’s rays bring out the gold
in every crevice, to banish the cold.

The mantis shrimp
Sees all that I never could.
My creator, ever frugal,
Gave me gifts
Of word and tongue
But only just this once,
Bits of light cowed by the sun.

I peer through the window,
Too short to see those
Violet peaks.

I brush past reality
Like the eyelash fluttering past
My cheek,
Never to really know.

it feels like locking
the door on your loyal dog
who loved unconditionally
and saved you from your
sorrowful depths,
but you must go and
all things must end, though,
can’t you hear the whining
through the cracks?
can’t you hear the groan
through the cracks in the spine
made from opening what must
always
be shut?

Why do I dare to sing
this melody, overused and
claimed by millions of
others, with voices nearly
interchangeable but barely off,
imperceptibly so, just a dash
too much of cinnamon, not that
you’d ever know, but still
I steal these hand-me-down
words, chasing the horizon only
to retreat back to the
well-worn reef?

I want to erase the fingerprints
I leave on your days, weeks, and years,
To drain through the gaps
In your floorboards,
To float through life,
Unable to embrace but
Too incorporeal to be slapped.

I need to

go.

I long to see me
As you do,
Entirely foreign and
Mundanely beautiful.
I wish to trace
The curves of my lettering,
Attempting to decode
A message I have already
Memorized.
I have already unraveled
All of my mysteries but you
Still startle at each creak
Of the floor, each squeak
Of the door.
Nevertheless,
That elsewise wonder
Is only reserved for
Strangers.

I sit beneath the willow tree
That wilted, weeping, widow’s tree
That messy, mournful, martyr’s tree
Wishing for a better me.

I am the boughs, so bent and beaten
Desperate, derailed, defeated
Without respite, the worst repeated:
“Failed again, you failed again.”

Once, I was the vibrant green,
A softly serendipitous scene
With smiles now so seldom seen
That one day, might be found again.

I lay within the willow’s shade,
To wait and watch and let her sway,
She holds me in her vined embrace,
And says my goodness still remains.

I wish that my birthday didn’t
take a whole day because I
have too many things to do.
I do it to myself but there is just
too much and I feel spread so thin
like the frosting on a birthday cake.
I don’t have the time to celebrate and
what am I doing it for?
I’m not the one who brought me into
this world and now, here I am
squandering it.
I don’t know what I’m doing and
I’m wasting my time and I have
bitten off more than I can chew
and everyone expects greatness
from me.
I constantly fall apart so why does
my birthday deserve to take up
a whole day?

Nothing made me angrier than when
You expected the best from me and I
Felt like it was unfair, and I couldn’t do
What everyone else could, that I didn’t
Have the tools, that this was a race but
I was positioned behind the
Starting line.

I thought you didn’t understand.

And you didn’t.

But you pushed me farther than I thought
I could go, you told me that I could do it—
That I had to.
You held me to that same gold standard,
On the bad days and the good days and
The days in between, you never wavered
And you never gave me the option to
Quit.

So I ran that race, and I ran it fast
I sprinted and leaped and speeded past
Everyone else, despite where I started,
And all I could feel was the rush in the air,
The breath in my veins and the wind in my hair,
The power of my stride, the power of my will,
The strength of my wholeness, this strength I could feel,
And every time, I thought I could not do it.

You did not know my pain—
Yet you pushed me right through it.

i was messy crying but you
took me into your arms and
told me that you loved me
and that i would be okay.
i am far too scared to let you see
my tears, most of the time,
but sometimes they break free
and i color blue outside my lines.
i thought, somehow, you would leave
me to my tears, alone, but you
did not, and picked me up, brushed off
the dirt, and let the dam break.
it is not always like this, but today
you keep me safe.
the inside of my mind was as harsh
as any bleach, corrosive, acid,
so harsh it needed a warning sign,
so harsh that i could hardly survive,
but now it is quiet and warm and suddenly
i can breathe again when i thought that
the oxygen had run out.