to younger me

i wish i could tell you it gets better
i wish i could tell you that we come out of our shell
that we start being a good person
that the numbness goes away
but we get friends
but we're more lost than ever
maybe someday in twenty years
we'll feel okay
maybe someday in twenty years
we won't be at all


to older me

are we still there?
do we feel better yet?
has it finally stopped?
do we get meds?
do we get to transition?
(god i want estrogen)
are we alone yet?
i hope not.
do we hurt more?
do we hurt others?
do we still have a good fashion sense?
or do you think of me as cringey and weird?
are we okay yet?
do we deserve to be?

Arrive in a neighborhood not mine.
Phoenix sun splits the mailboxes,
Cracked cement, bald lawns, deflated kiddie pools,
sippy cups gone brittle in the sun.

A toddler screams
until a sibling gathers him inside.
Helios whips his chariot down the street,
steals my parking space.
White Shell Woman hushes the child
with a wind of cool dust.

I buy
donuts, Cheetos, pickles-
eat them in the car.
Gas station sink, hair and grit.
I scrub off orange powder.
Kokopelli swings from the paper towel rack,
flicking drops of water onto my face,
flirting, laughing at my small hungers.

Cemetery, sitting on the hood.
Graves hum in the heat.
Yours more-so.
Hecate steps from the shadow of a mesquite,
offers me three paths,
none of them home.
Coyote pads along the stone wall,
head cocked, grin sharp,
watching my pulse quicken.
White Shell Woman whispers:
Run.

The blood in me stirs-
knife-bright, restless.
I step off the hood,
already fleeing toward
any other life.

1 get out of bed
#2 get dressed
#3 practice smiling in the mirror
#4 cut 1- 2- 3- 4- on each wrist
#5 count your steps on the carpet
curtain's almost up
#6 hide the dark circles
#7 pretend everything's okay
#8 hide the tear tracks
#9 shove down the sadness
#10 silence the screams
time's up
curtains open
camera rolling

darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
as you chase
someone else's dream,
as they chase
someone else's dream,
and no one's
chasing their own.

darling,
it hurts too much
to watch
you pass through
the valleys of life,
as the shadows
stretch further
with every step,
and the valley
stretches too.

darling,
it hurts too much
to hear you
say to me,
in that crystalline voice
that warms my heart,
"the only way
is through",
while I stare back
and whisper to you
"the only way
is through".

darling,
it hurts too much
to look up
and face the sunlight
with eyes
that've only
tasted the dark.

darling,
you love
sunlight.

there was a boy with scars once
he had anger
years of red hot gum stuck in his furnace of teeth
the mirror of his mouth protecting his soul
like thread knotted
twisting
twisting
s n a p .
he punched the mirror
and the glass fangs swallowed his heart

there was a child made of flowers once
the fangs are still embedded in their ribcage,
but now flowers grow from their scars,
sedum and chrysanthemums
sprouting for all to see
but every morning,
the flowers are carefully glued on,
so the scars underneath don't exist

once, there was a girl made of thorns
she glides on the wind,
the forest echoing her name
(because there was always someone calling)
she comes and goes,
a child of the road
never a home, always a house

once upon a time, the girl made of thorns and the child made of flowers were one,
and the thorns taught the flowers to take pride in their scars,
as the flowers taught the thorns to push back the glass monsters,
(but leave the fangs so you never forget)