when a boy shows you his hands
bare except for the dust
he’s begging you to look past
take them in yours.
squeeze them once.
twice.
say without speaking
that you understand that the valleys
in his palms were meant to cradle
shooting star wishes
that he’s allowed to still hope for.
when a boy shows you his eyes
of milk and crimson and melanin
a bloodshot vein for every night he can’t sleep
let him shut his eyelids.
say without speaking
that you understand that the black hole pinpricks
of his irises hold more than the universe
should allow.
when a boy shows you his soul
shivering but still working toward friction
iced over but still working toward melting
let him come to rest next to yours.
say without speaking
that you understand that he is lonely
and that his silence speaks volumes
and that you kept his treasure close
because you love him.
when a boy shows you his hands
show him your hands.
when a boy shows you his eyes
show him your eyes.
when a boy shows you his soul
show him that
this is a comfortable place to rest it.
when a boy shows you the hardness that shaped him
show him the softness
that you have in store.

I don't regret it
Being with you
My first best friend
My first girl crush
Well that's a lie
The first girl crush
I allowed myself
To acknowledge
Was you.
You scared me more
Than anyone before you
I lived on edge for months  
I don't regret the
Music we shared
And the times
We cried
And the times we
Laughed
And the times when I was too scared to sleep because I thought I'd wake up to you having gone.
I don't regret loving you
Even though it hurts
Now
And I hope you know
That I still care.
I will always care
I think.

Trust,
is when you tell someone your deepest, darkest, secret, and know that they'll take it to their grave unless you give them permission to do otherwise with it.
It can be quick, it can be a split-second decision, but it's something conscious, a small act of faith.

Friendship,
is when you tell someone your deepest, darkest, secret, and they stay standing beside you.
It's built on at least some amount of trust, and it means they back you up, and you do the same for them. It means you do your best not to stab them in the back, because you care about them, and trust they'll do the same for you.

Love,
*is when you tell someone your deepest, darkest, secret, and they look you in the eye, and believe you're still a good person.
It sneaks up on you, about the exact time you don't expect it to, and changes your life, rather you want it to, or not. It's unconditional, and infinite, and beautiful, because love is when you care about someone so much, you can't imagine your life without them, and you'd do anything to protect them, your own life be ******. It doesn't matter if your blood is the same - if you're friends, or lovers, or acquaintances. Love, is an all encompassing sort of thing: it isn't picky.

I imagine well
in multiverse tribes you'd be,
always existing
next to next
with others
in the easy shine you give;
all your moments gilding a live.

Sometimes, you forget that you are not drowning alone,
the murky water and
the kelp and
its attempt to latch on and
drag you further beneath the surface -

    you, all alone in you misery, (but that's alright because hard as it is you know how to save yourself)


and sometimes, you get a glimpse of someone else drowning next to you.















*Today, you do your very best to catch them.

I
  i.
sometimes, being discriminated against
is
an elementary school teacher treating one of her students
like a thing to be exterminated and killed and disposed of
like the dirt under concrete she steps on everyday
~ except that dirt can be beneficial ~
because her student has a different skincolorhaircoloreyecolorappearance
than every single other student she teaches, has taught,
doesn't matter how intelligent hardworking forgiving
her student is --
and the school is letting it go
and the school is doing n o t h i n g
to stop it


  ii.
other times, being discriminated against,
is
the way their eyes pass over you.
and this is after, they tell you,
                ~ how rare, how brilliant, how exceptional ~
you are, especially considering --
especially considering how d i f f e r e n t you are.
because
you will never be considered one of them.
because you will always be considered d i f f e r e n t.
because you may be "good",
but you will never be good enough.





II
   i.
being a minority, is the word
                                            i n s i g n i f i c a n t
carved into and hammered onto you so many times
you curl into yourself
and hunch over so you look less tall than you actually are,
just so you can blend in.
just so you can avoid the stares.
so someone doesn't call you out for something you haven't done. again.


   ii.
being a minority
is never seeing yourself in those around you.
it is getting so used to being different
that those alike you, are a novelty, tucked away and hidden so far,
injustices don't matter.
one killed another
but it is history repeated all over again,
Hammurabi's Code and the rich and the powerful get fined
while the poor die.
the killer walks free, nothing but a slap on the wrist --
   the dead is the guilty party, now, the dead is the guilty.
because why would a person from the majority ever **** an innocent?





III
     i.
being a teenage girl  
is
looking old enough to look like an adult, but not truly being one yet
so choosing between jeans and shorts, and saving skirts --
skirts, dresses, for occasions when you must where them
because that way
if there are drunk men surrounding you on trains,
or enough of a collection of blood thirsty ones,
you have some protection
against wandering hands
and people who tell you your body is not your own.


   ii.
being of the female gender is also
never going places alone because
you have heard the h o r r o r stories
you have seen them
   you have experienced them
and you do not want to end up
sexually  h a r r a s e d
*                                       b e a t e n
  *                                                         r a p e d
   *                                                                ­        d e a d.


   iii.
being a woman
in a working environment,
is
  *g l a s s   c i e l i n g
                                      never shattering
never speaking too loudly or too much
for fear of being called "bossy" "loud" "obnoxious"
for fear of being fired.
being passed over for promotions because social norms disallow you
from being competetive
or having your own ideas
from having the same right to be there as the men.
from work being not profession --
but professionsecretarycleancookwifelookafterchildrenmother
all of the above.