I am not my failures
I am not my parents
I am not my rejection letters
Nor am I my anxiety pills
I am not my childhood naivety
Or my teenage angst
I will tell you what I am
When I figure it out
(if I ever figure it out)
Because right now
I. Just. Am.

I sharpen my quill
And prepare for battle
No shield made of metaphors
To guard my self-doubt
And no similes to carry me through the trenches
Like a brave war horse.
I am on all fours
Crawling into the unknown depths of the plain pages
That blinding
Brilliant
White
I am falling into the unknown -
Falling into the trap of the enemy
Which I am certain is
Myself.

The words I am trying to say
Are anchored in the soil within my lungs
But are creeping
Slowly
Up my throat
And sprouting wildflowers that look like weeds.
They crave sunlight and showers
Nurtured by nature
In the perfect amounts.
But what good would all this bring
If they do not attract the bees?

Your Otherness
Your beautiful, beautiful other
It is not to be denied
But distinguished  
It is not to be endured
But embraced.

We say the pressure is too immense
And we cannot stand the heat
But aren’t those the conditions in
Which diamonds are made?

How could I forget?
Those brown eyes that spark up fires
They still shine me home