maybe if you didn't
walk with your head hung so low
fixed on the feet of people you know
leaving as if you had somewhere to go
wrapping your arms
around your chest
constantly worrying
if your skin shows
they would-

look at you the way
they look at them
if you would try
include you in
their exclusive lives
if you would try

maybe i
walk with my head so low
because i'm carrying their burdens
on my back
gazing at the ground
because my eyes are tired
of looking for faults
in myself
running
from the silence
in between sentences
that i tried to fill
with my appearance
i will-

leave my nest bed head
the way i had it
when i woke
be heard
without shouting words
that i spoke
love my body
the way it was made
all curves and marks
that wrap around my waist
unapologetically carry the bags
under the eyes
on my face
i will-

continue to speak love
from my unfilled chapped lips
i'm not trying

i'm living.

eve-ry syllable
that comes out of your pretty mouth
makes me uneasy
daggers covered in roses
but the thorns won't heal my wounds
how can the same person  
say something
that can make you feel  like
for once
you're going to be more
than "okay"
but can tear you apart like
the page in your journal
you tried to forget
your lungs are meant to give you life
but they're surely taking away mine

why was it so easy for you to let go?
you break apart the hearts
that adore you, dear
covering your sleeves
from what's underneath
on the run and go
from your fears that
keep you awake at night
only running from yourself
but you'll keep cutting corners,
even if it's hurting someone else.

if that's what "love" is,
i hope i never know.

like taking a breath of fresh air
into my lungs
when i've been
holding my breath
for so long
and trying to ride my bike
for the first time
endlessly falling
and getting up
again
or that feeling i get
when i'm too tired
but i don't want to fall asleep
hearing my favorite
old song
when it comes on the radio
what i see
when the leaves
change color  
the smell of rain

home.

what if i don't want to be a wildflower
or a rose waiting to be plucked
dying for your entertainment
with broken stems
and withered petals
telling fates, "loves me not"
but to be able to grow
in the muddiest of waters
without the sunshine
staying afloat
when the waters get too rough
i don't want to be
the prettiest flower in the garden
just because
you picked me

i want to grow on my own.