i.
we made wings out of
saran wrap and twigs,
simplicity at best.


ii.
we prayed for the
autumn winds to blow
us away like seeds.


iii.
we reached towards
the never-ending sky
and jumped.


iv.
our wings stepped on,
our bodies crushed,
we faced the darkness.

careless whispers
buzzed on the bus;

and i sat alone
in seat with my
head facing the
outside world.

it, too, looked
busy - occupying
itself with bodies
of people, rushing
up and down streets,
each with secrets
in their pockets;

and suddenly,
i didn't feel as
alone as i did then.

slouching in my
seat with music
playing in my ears,
i occupied myself
with sleep
for the rest
of the way.

bitter cold
months
came and left,
taking my love
with them and
leaving me
with dry,
cracked skin;

forget-me-nots
were planted
across her
moist grave to
remind me that
love doesn't
end in death.

i.
we stood our ground
among the deserted trees
with our arms outstretched,
fingertips pointing to
the dead and forgotten hills
like the bare branches,
and our naked bodies
firmly rooted down.

ii.
the bitter cold seeped into
our veins, making our tender
skin become dry and flaky,
crumbling with each blow of the wind;
making our hard-working heart
slow down and its beats
reverberating against the drums
in our ears until they become soft taps.

iii.
wilted plants and weeds learned
to grow around us, just as rocks
eroded under and between our toes,
along with vermin that quietly nibbled
on our emotionless eyes;
there we stood, very still like
scarecrows- except we were real beings
exiled from society for being different.

their words prepared
the noose from which
I hung myself
that cold winter
morning.

their words whispered
and repeated themselves
in my ear
day after day,
night after night.

their words haunted
and invaded my dreams,
disturbing the equilibrium
that existed in my mind;
dreams turned into nightmares.

their words flowed
with the blood that
I forced to be shed
from my wrists, my thighs,
my everything.

their words prevented
me to be open with those
who really cared about me,
causing me to believe that
everyone hated me and wanted me

dead.




now:

their words have disappeared

and
so have I;

I surrendered to
*their words.

smoke escaped from your parted lips,
intoxicating the room with its stench
and your hands shaking with the syringe,
aiming for a lesser bruised area in your arm;

"this is the last hit, I swear..."

before she had kicked you out,
you had stolen over a hundred-fifty dollars
from your very own mother's wallet
to fuel this cruel addiction of yours;

"I'm not addicted..."

just look at you:

rotten teeth like those of maybe a rat's,
face all wrinkled as though you're older than 16,
bits and pieces of your skin picked and dug deep,
and only some patches of hair remain.

"I won't be like her..."

no one else will be attracted to you
like she is, your drug dealer and girlfriend;
together you'll live in isolation somewhere,
with lack of sleep and a high dose of euphoria.

"the only harm being done is to myself..."

tell that to the cops as they bring a warrant
to search your current place of residency
and discover your kitchen for making more,

tell that to the cops as they drag you to jail
to force you into rehabilitation for help
and keep you there until you're all better.

when asked to reflect on my childhood
from my age now, I close my eyes, take a
breath (or two) in, and prepare to remember.

based on what my parents have told me,
I was born on a day in February a day
later than they expected me in the
European country of Ukraine;
didn't live long there, only until I was
about two or three years old.

they say that we moved to the United States
in the summer time as refugees, seeing as my
father's family is Jewish and Jews were on the run
then; my mother adds that she wanted a
new beginning with new chances and new hope,
oh! and perhaps a better life for me.

up until I had to go to school, I grew up
speaking Russian at home with no English
and a little bit of Ukrainian there too;

at age 5 or 6, can't remember which, I started
school - it worried my parents, but my
Kindergarten teacher said,

"not to worry, she'll learn it with time."

and guess what? I did.
By now, I became bilingual.

when my mother's mom (my grandmother)
came over to the States in 2000, she settled in
with us, only 2 years after my sister was born;

yes, I still do love my grandmother,
even if she abused me - verbally and physically;
her ways of discipline were simply different from my
parents and indeed, tension and stress levels were
raised in the house from it.

this continued up until I was about 10 years old
when my family (my mother, father and sister)
moved up to Fort Collins for my dad to get his PhD;
there, everything seemed to be getting better.

from a fairly young age, I was told that I
was a skinny child and that I should try being
active in sports:

first sport I did, I did for only 3
months - gymnastics. during my time there,
I became very flexible and landed my splits;

second sport I did, I did for about 2 years - dance.
I participated in the most common ones, tap and ballet,
and often dreamed about becoming a professional
ballerina. needless to say, it didn't happen;

third sport I did, I did for about 3 years - martial arts.
this was the sport that taught me respect and
self-confidence that would follow me everywhere.

other sports I did include tennis and figure skating,
both contributed to my adolescent growth and health,
yet school prevented me from being as active as I once was.

having moved 2 times in a short amount of time meant
losing friends and hoping to make new ones;

first time I moved, I was worried that I would lose my one
and only best friend due to distance between us - it so
happens that distance only made our friendship stronger
and this year we celebrate being friends for 12 years.

making friends in a new town for me was hard work but
in the end, I found a few that I could trust and call "friends";
they became my support system when teachers and bullies
in junior high twisted and broke me down into pieces.

over the next few years, everything was alright
until I started having a ****** identity crisis
at age 16;

I started doubting who I was, who I loved,
where would I go from here. it didn't help that my dad
became more and more ignorant, saying that
bisexuality doesn't exist.

my family was (and still is) close and we could (can)
tell each other anything without being judged or
told that our views were wrong;

but,
how was I supposed to tell my parents, especially my dad,
that I might have a crush on a girl?

still, at age 19, I don't know who I am...
I'm a late bloomer, I know that.

as I open my eyes, I realize
there are many other things that
I have repressed, never wanting to look
back at them again;

my childhood will always remain a memory,
nothing more.