wide awake
eyes darting back and
forth
heart crashes like a wave
into
and into
and into my chest

i should be doing something
something
something

something

something

some—alarm goes off
it’s 3:30 AM

time to get ready for work

a sparkle in your eye
a baby girl's cry

how's she going to spend
the rest of her life?

reaching for perfection
fixing her complexion
and sense of direction

dodging
society's inspections

her father's aggression
her mother's traditional-housewife obsession

trying to escape their
suffocating protection

became an adult
run away across the country
for a new angle of reflection

trying to forget
trying to have no recollection
of their projections
on her own perceptions

learn who she is
over and over again

question question question

she's spending time making
connections between
the past and the present

dad doesn't think it's important
to address his life's trauma.

instead, he takes it, as his father did
and passes it to me with both hands flying from all sides.

mom doesn't think it's important
to address her life's trauma, either.
instead, she helps father pass it on with the,
"wait until he gets home."

she is too traumatized to pass it on herself,
not so traumatized that she can't help pass it
along with the help of another.

and i take it from them, carry it all--

finding safe places to hide it.
finding safe people to confide in
who may see the light in it--
maybe even help me carry some
before i drown in it

or worse:
before i pass it on, too.

emerald linen edged with jade
a book titled with my name

and it’s heavy.

i flip through the pages
but they’re blank.

or maybe they’re written
in a way i cannot see

or maybe it was never written at all.

or maybe it’s a reflection,
an empty book, an empty me.

& maybe I’ll write it someday.

a week ago
i turned 26.

two days ago
i hurt myself again
for the first time
in four years.

this time i didn't
use the little blades
from my razor.

this time i
got more personal.
used my own fingernails
to dig deep for the life
i'm scared to live
beneath this skin.

then i took some
deep breaths in
& restarted the journey again.

sometimes it seems there’s no escape from your mind when life twists your light.
you can’t recognize yourself anymore after all your stars collide.

on the horizon of the black hole in your life full of lessons past,

a self-destructive mind remembering
the heartbreak,
the ungentle death of an interstellar cloud—

pain so hot that you explode
birthing brighter stars.

but you still feel small.

smaller than the earth you walk
that is smaller than the sun it circles
smaller than the galaxy it floats in
that is smaller than the universe they reside.

but they don’t know they’re small
and neither should you,
full of galaxies. you are a universe.

but a universe can yield violence beyond comprehension.
with every heartbreak, and with every tear,
a lesson making you think twice—

did i do this right?

these are not times you should wish to reverse,
these are just the actions of a restless universe.

simple like rain
on a window pane--
it all sounds the same
drip drops
turn to hurricanes.

simple like rain
the tree branches sway--
wind passes through
whispers secrets to me and you
as the sun sets in the afternoon.

simple like rain.