You pressed down on my carbon body and said it is to make me into a diamond.

I let you.

I wanted to be the perfect, bright stone the world put on a pedestal to adore.


I basked in the pressure you put on me,
ignored the cracks,
the powder that drifted down my hands like falling sand.


I did not know how they chip away at diamonds to make them smooth and shimmering.

Shrink them, only to regret it later.


It hurt, but I let your steamroll compress on my carbon arms,

rolling my eyes as you taught me at the rockes that slipped out of your grip.


Even the ones that got away praised my endurance.

They didn't see the sweat dripping down, the heat in my eyes.

Or maybe they did and thought it was a price I am willing to pay.


The world taught me that diamonds are the most beautiful stones,
so I let you wash me of color.

Helped you peel away my blue and red and yellow,
leaving nothing but a hollow reflection of the world.


Staying up at night, I felt the weight of you,
always,
pushing down at my lunges, seizing my heart.


Even when I was away, I still felt your unrelenting hold,
putting my head between your fingers and demanding I will not look away.


You pressed and compressed but I didn't turn to diamond,

I turned to dust.

Through the skimming of a worn out book I found a garden.

Full of welcoming people, full of love.

All like me, all so different,

Recognition and understanding is what they thought of.


Among the blooming flowers, where they talked.

Under the buzzing of the trees, where they joked.

Bonding over what connected them,

their uniqueness among the stars.


I rose to find the garden, reading of our history.

Holding the answers in my hands like lilac skies and green earth.


As I read, the rotten leaves crunched under my feet.

Looking up, no person greeted me,

none were there to be found.


Smoke covered the trees, the silence overwhelming.

There was nothing to breath in, but blood and destruction.


Oh, I soon wished for the silence to wrap itself around me again.

Silence is better than spitting hot hate, when the quiet before the storm is all you can hope for.


They held the torches, standing in front of the still burning flowers.

A meaningless crusade for the innocents, a terror fueled by ignorance.


I am not ashamed for running.

I'm not ashamed until night falls,
until I think of all the souls that followed my path and decided to speak up,

a lost cause weighing them down so they could no longer stand upright.


Through the skimming of my book I found a garden.

Once beautiful and peaceful, now torn to shreds.

Full of welcoming people who had not burned alive,

who had not died.

I didn't see the walls set ablaze.

I didn't watch the doors lock.

I didn't hear the first scream.

I didn't smell the smoke.


I came to the town to find my people.

To bond and joke over what made us
special, unique
The same


I came to the town because I heard that within the kingdom, that's where I'll find the land they, too, had to claim.


Burn scars greeted me,
Silence at the doors.

Bloodied stones littered the streets,
Decaying flowers in their pots.


A gray plank nailed
on a barren door.

A last testimony
from the people who called it home.


Dear wanderer,

We have ran for the hills, we have scattered across the land.

One day we will return,
Demand our freedom and acceptance.

But for now, dear traveler, if you are one of us,
know there are people in the world, know that you're not alone.


I wiped my tears.
I walked away.

At the edge of town I turned around,

From the scorched ground, underneath the healing ancient tree,

a purple flower bloomed on fresh grass.


A promise for a second chance.

When you were feeding me pesticides, you asked if you were poison.

No, of course not.

How can you be poison when the fruit is so sweet?


When your control over me spread like cancer, you asked if you were a disease.

No, of course not.

There is nothing alarming about you, nothing to widen my eyes at with worry.


When I choked on my tears, you asked if you were a flood ready to drown us both.

No, of course not.

You are nothing like the unyielding water, scratching at the rock until it was as smooth as them.


When your short fuse scotched me, you asked if you were a fire destined to burn down the world.

No, of course not.

You are warm and safe, but not dangerous-
I mouthed silently at night.


When I was lying on the floor, barely clinging to consciousness, you asked if you were death.

No, of course not.

Death is merciful.
Death is inescapable.


When I was dreaming of you, you asked again if you are all of those horrible things.

Yes.

Yes you were.

I sent you a letter.

I'm sorry that I didn't just say it out loud,
but I couldn't look at you as our faces mirrored each other's heartbreak.

Yours then mine.


I couldn't be there as you struggled to give me an answer,
couldn't just tell you without giving you space.

I wish I could talk to you,
that my mouth won't fill with silence when it is opened.

That I'll stop wrapping the silence around me, desperate for its warmth in freezing days.


Yet still,

I sent you this letter, dear mother, because the waves held my face under your turbulence of expectations and the currents needed to change.

I didn't want to drown.


Forgive me for this letter, dear father, I know you prefer ignorance but it only leads to hate and anyway,

mother always says there's nothing you love more than your children and I didn't want to become a stranger.


I know this is hard, but I wish it wasn't.

I wish you'd paint your face with my colors, cheer from the stands, celebrate my existence as it is.


Still, I don't expect you to understand it,
I know it's foreign and new in your eyes.


I don't want you to tell me you still love me and that your love would always be unconditional,

I want to never have questioned it at all.


I don't want your sympathy.

There's nothing to be sad about, nothing to fix, nothing to mourn.

The future you visioned for me was never real, you never asked me anyway.


I don't want your acceptance.

It's just blank pages and silent mouths, I want your support.

The world is sharp and I just want to know you'll be there to clean away the blood.


I had to tell you because whenever I thought of who I am and heard your voice carried in the wind, I flinched and tensed as if you could look into my mind.


I needed to tell you because I am tired of hiding away flags and pins and scarfs,
bite my tongue around a joke,
overthink every passing comment that falls from your mouth.


I had to tell you because most of all I needed an answer.


So now,

please,

just write me back.

I need to be there at five ten (17:10)

It won't be 'the worst' if I were to be late by a minute or so,

just disappointed looks and silent judgment.

Perhaps they won't even notice.


And anyway, five ten (17:10) is in five hours.

I need to be at the bus stop at five (17:00), it's a five, maybe eight, minutes drive and I should be there by five five (17:05) ,mybe five eight (17:08),

at any rate I'll be there before five ten (17:10).


It takes me ten minutes to get dressed so I better set my alarm to four thirty (16:30), just to be safe.


So now I have five hours to myself before I need to get ready.

I can watch tv on my computer, or bake cookies.

I have so much time!

...maybe not baking.


There are three more hours until my alarm rings.

Wait, did I set it right?

Yes.

Maybe I should give myself more time to organize, you never know what can happen!

Four twenty (16:20) it is.


It's two hours until I have to get ready and I keep glancing at the clock in the corner or my computer.

I'll just put on the clothes I need,

get out of the comfort of my pajamas, into my tight clothes.


The alarm rings

but I'm already dressed, my water bottle filled, my wallet in my purse, everything is where it should be.


I set my alarm again:

It's a minute or so of walking to the bus stop and I need to be there by five sharp (17:00).

I set my alarm to five minutes to five (16:55).


There's half an hour before I need to go.

The show is still running but I've stopped watching forever ago.

What if there won't be a bathroom there? I should go to the bathroom now.


Well that only took four minutes, I have twenty six more to burn.

I'm pacing in my room, the computer put away.

What if I'll need to *** there? Great now I need to *** again and I've already peed five minutes ago.


I better get going.


I've been waiting for the bus for ten minutes when the alarm rang.

Fifteen minutes of waiting for the bus in the scorching sun, wiping away sweat like drops of anxious thoughts, is fine.

It's normal, right?

I don't have time to worry about it.

It's better than the feeling of the stress on my skin, pushing on my organs until I suffocate.


It's five (17:00) and the bus still hasn't arrived.

It's fine.

It's FINE.

It's F I N E.


Two minutes later I'm sitting on the bus, waiting for my stop.

Chest heaving, I step back into the street, thanking the driver goodbye.


I don't see anyone.

This is where we're supposed to meet, right?

Yes, definitely.

It's today, right? This hour?

Yes and yes.


Oh,
I'm just the first one here.