They say…  
it wasn’t messy  
until the cat.  

The cat just wanted to play,  
but somewhere along the way,  
she ran into a human like us.  

Together, they began  
to play with the red string.  

They say…
before the human,  
there was no method to the string—  
just thrown about,  
knotted inexplicably.  

But then man came  
and saved the day.  
The string and cat said, “Hooray!”  

They say…
man showed up  
with rules:  
“The string isn’t a toy,  
it’s a tool.  
Throwing it about  
would be cruel.  
People could trip,  
and one day,  
the string could rip.”  

They say…
they all agreed  
to move the string  
to a different corridor,  
behind a big door.  

“Any questions?”  
A little hand rose up.  
She was lost in the crowd,  
a girl I hadn’t noticed before.  

Her question sent ice to my core:  
“Then why is there red string  
all over the floor?”  

I snapped,
“There is no red string  
on the floor!”  
If they hear her question
Will it be safe for us anymore
The air grows heavier
Much too heavy to breathe
The sounds of heavy footsteps
Now growing louder than a horn
I’ve never heard knocks like this before
Why does it sound like a war
on the other side of the door?
All for a little girl?
Is that what all of this is for?

But then I looked down  
and barely began to see—  
the red string  
had tangled me.  
And by scolding the girl
Instead of letting it be
Have I sentenced her to a fate
just like me?

Too stunned,  
to speak,  
too stuck,  
to move—  

Her soft knowing eyes met mine
With the truth that mine were too calloused to realize
What They say…
might be too good  
to be true.


They say…
they lived happily ever after
They say…. “They will never all question us anyway.”
They say…

To be loved by me  
is like being held underwater  
and expected to learn how to breathe.  

I don’t feel like I’m from here—  
from this planet.  
To love me is inhuman.  

I’m a creature of the night.  
Don’t get too close,  
or you might cause me a fright.  
But if you get just close enough,  
we can have conversations  
that last all night.  

To be loved by me  
is like being drowned…

You lose yourself in me.  
I lose myself in you.  
It’s not just a pattern—  
it’s painted in the stars above,  
the ground below.  
You know we’ve all seen this show.  

I either make landfall  
like a hurricane,  
or like the rain  
that was supposed to come today  
but never bothered to show its face.  

To be loved by me  
is like being drowned…

It’s not that I’m unlovable…  
It’s that I might be intoxicating.  
And you know how it goes  
with toxic things:  
you either can’t put them down,  
or you know better  
than to ever pick them up.  

To be loved by me  
is like being drowned…

But what if I’ve never been those extremes?  
What if that’s just how you’ve chosen to see me?  
What if loving me is not like drowning?  
What if I’ve just been watering your seeds?  
What if we look between the stars and the ground?  

To be loved by me
Is like being drowned?

Is there a different story to be found—  
waiting to be painted  
by someone who can see  
both the stars above  
and the roots beneath the tree?

I looked into her Eyes full of sparkle and wonder her mind so full of possibilities and love It spills out all around her. A me from before the world took my voice and crushed me. I promised her the world with one foot outside of her pink polka dot room full of innocence.

With every step I took the air grew colder and my words grew teeth.
I used to hear her cry
Begging me to stop
that I can come back
“there’s beauty in being soft”
enjoy the thunderstorm as it passes
Even with all the damage that it leaves together, We can find the beauty in the rain its smell the refreshment of the cold breeze.

But she doesn't know she is safe in that room because I locked the door and boarded up the windows.
they told me she is too soft.
The world is too cruel for her to be safe.
Her skin bleeds when it hits the outside air. Just pain comes when she is out, and there is no beauty in pain, only suffering.

Her words have become white noise as I wander this condemned house alone. I almost missed... I almost missed “When is the last time you took a moment to look outside?” Barely a whisper on the other side of my childhood door, which caught me off guard because they were never whispered before. She always roared. I'm hit with the crushing realization. Oh no, what have I done to her.  

I stole her voice in trying to keep it for me. Lost in this never ending mazes of who I’m suppose to be.

Her words slowly grow louder, almost as if all she needs is to be seen.
“The storm is gone now, and the birds have began to sing.”
Her words grow bolder as if she finally found her way to be free.
“You abandoned both of us for the sake of me, but the storm has passed, and I promise if you just listen, you can hear the birds sing.” Somehow her hand finds mine on the other side of the door-a connection we have both been searching for.
For the first time I could hear the little birds, even if far off and faint.
“Let me out, unlock this door, and maybe after all this time we can find what we have been searching for”
in that moment I swear I can hear the bird that sings of hope sitting just outside the front door
Wondering if this the moment we have been waiting for to rip this house down board by board.
Rebuilding together to be so much more.