i can see my lacy blue veins
beneath my skin

i can see them
on my eyelids
when i close one eye
and tilt my head

so delicate
and fragile
and strangely pretty
in their own way

i can see them in other places too
dripping down my wrist
running down my leg
in my elbows
and thighs

a constant reminder
of the life flowing through me,
though i may not recognize it
all of the time

in the icy swirl
          of deep-inhale
            I reach down inside
                      to darkest
       heated flesh-fabric
removing the clothing
of my soul,
feeling the layers
                slowly  undone
                      the flay
                        of my own fleece
                          the peeling
                    of my own pelt
            penetrating
                through tissue,
                     a journey to the
                          deep heart of me,
                         cut in one clean move
                         and yet, like a miracle
                  there is
             no pain
                   just magnet-connect
                     beyond the cusp
                            of words
                              that curl from our
                                             tongues
                                      rising up in
                      latticed affirmations
                    a cleansing in frost
a constant, aquamarine renewal
and there is no past
no future
      just this prism
           of crystal liquid jewels
      flowing in
gentle,
         cellular music
             straight into the strands        
                    of our veins
and I miss you
like you have gone
on the long winter hunt
my longing splayed out
like an animal skin on
                    four poles
its tendons stretched
beyond measure
yet holding fast
with a roof over my head,
                    I acknowledge
             my restlessness
I am my own
       hunter-forager,
         both searching and found,
                     gathering up bits  
               of velocity
stroking the ribbons
of passion
stoking the fires of my
              heart and hearth
protecting what is us
like a lioness
for we are overflowing
with both strength
         and tenderness
              our own bones
ingredients of the wild soup              
of our feral union
of our constant rebirth
our very dna
          weaving itself
like heartstrings
               in the rush      
of
       time

“What do you even have to worry about?”

“High school was so fun!
Why do you say you hate it?
Don’t be so dramatic.”

They tell me.
But then they go on, after they see my grades

“You’re not even trying!
Just study harder!
Oh, but you can’t take normal classes, no.
We want you to take all honors.
Honors classes are better for you.”

“You have a D in College Algebra??
That’s unacceptable.
You’re grounded.
Until you can get your score up, of course.”

Is what they tell me.
You wonder why I hate school?
It’s because it *****.
It teaches you that if you make mistakes you’re worthless.
And If you don’t get that letter up to an A you won’t get into a good college,
You won’t get a good job,
You won’t earn good money,
You won’t be able to live,
Not that (dare I say) a fourth of us even want to.

Did you know,
That the average kid in high school has the same level of anxiety
As the average insane asylum patient in the 1950’s?

It’s a ******* problem.

And don’t read an article about it,
Written by a Millennial,
Read by a Baby Boomer,
About the problems of a generation
That they don’t know.

I’m sick of it.

What do I have to worry about?

I have to worry about my future.
I have to worry about it every waking hour of my life.
I have to stress,
And agonize,
And internally SCREAM about it.

Because of how hard it is.

And I can’t “live in the present,”
Because I have no time
To do trivial things (without feeling like a failure).

I have no time,
To get the “eight hours of sleep your child needs” every night,
Because I’m doing homework,
Or crying,
Or procrastinating,
Because I know I can’t do it.
I just can’t make myself.

And I wish they’d be a little less disappointed in me,
Because It’ll never compare to how disappointed I am in myself.