People are made of paper
Some are colored real pretty
Eyes bright with highlighter
Lips emboldened with sharpie
And some people are the sketches in the corner of your notebook during class
Some people are made of construction paper
Others flimsy white printer paper
Some people are adored and hung on walls for everyone to see
And others are ignored and tossed in the recycling
Isn't it strange?
To think that people
Who are made up of the same things
Can be valued so differently
I mean, how different are we?
We all can tear
Some already have, and are taped in several places
We can also fly
When the wind catches us just right
Drifting away on the breeze to unknown lands
We all can burn and crumple and disintegrate
But we can also be folded and shaped and painted
We can be ironed from a crumpled sheet of paper
To an origami swan
We can paint away our mistakes into a beautiful work of art
It's not too late to change
After all
Under it all
We are just sheets of paper
Waiting to be reborn and recycled

We all want to be liked
To have people see
The version of ourselves
We choose to be
And say, yeah
That's someone I admire
I aspire to be like
We all want someone
To look back on
The snapshots we've accrued
Over years of holidays,
***** nights,
And picture perfect food
And say, look
Here's someone who's got things sussed
We all want someone
To validate our lives
To comment that we're doing just fine
You're great
You're pretty
Your smart
Well, I guess that's a good start

We all want someone
To click that **** thumb
And validate the effort
Of keeping the mask on

i used to pass my fingers through the flame of my lighter when I was 10
in order to see how slow I would have to go for it to start hurting
now,
can’t you see
why I was afraid when you asked that we take it slow

i want to be your woman.
not your girl, your sister, or your friend
a woman.
who can breathe words that burn like placing your hand on a hot stove
yet can also bring the utmost relief with just a press of the lips.

i want to be your woman, baby
in blue jeans and a white tee
(the uniform of my femininity, with a coffee stain on the sleeve)

most of all, i want to take the worlds that bite down on your shoulders
look into them, understand them, and therefore, understand you.
then i'll toss them into the dishwasher.
i'll take them out when the cycle ends and place the polished worlds upon our dresser
so we can see just how nice it is that we have each other in this one.

so whenever you get loud and stomp around or i start swearing and crying, all we have to do is look and see.

i'm lucky to be your woman, and you're lucky to have me.