it’s okay i’ll be
a different me when
tomorrow comes

i’m turning a year older

and here’s to hoping
that the extra number
will mean i’m stronger;
that 40-odd push-ups
won’t make my muscles
ache for much longer

and a shoutout to my blind spot
the weakest muscle
according to my calculations
that it quickens its palpitations
when a boy smiles

but i’m turning fifteen in
fifteen days and in
fifteen ways i will always
be alone

on my own two feet

but here’s to hoping you will
hold my hand and
be a receptacle of hugs
and tired sighs and puppy eyes
that die

i will be 15 and my heart has been
torn since 13.
i will never
get tired of fixing it up
i will never
give myself up

young but not that young
and old
old, old, old

my hands are threaded thickly
with veins
and my eyes are shrouded
with thick lenses
but there is no wall between me and the world
and the thinnest of spaces between
our shoulders
my heart is protected by a plastic bubble

but this will be the year i swim the sea

to give it all my tears
to let the salt in all my wounds
to feel the pain
to know i’m stronger

to not let anything hinder me