I was born with a spine curved
into punctuation to end all of the questions
I have so much trouble answering

I was given my father’s
rough hands and big knuckles
I use to them hold myself together

I’ve got my mother’s wit
sarcastic, take no ****, I’ll
use it to protect myself from
really feeling anything

I have my grandmother’s heart
bare feet, a strong laugh, and the eternal
desire to make sure that everything
turns out ok, but
I can never quite find my voice like she can.

See I’m always talking
but I’m never Speaking.

My tongue is ****** Doo
when the rug’s pulled away
can’t get anywhere, scared shitless, but
****** if he isn’t trying.

My knees are stained lavender
From falling for people
far too easily

My eyelids are heavy
from sleepless nights spent
counting the reasons I don’t deserve
to get up in the morning
But

My bones are strong
sturdy under my skin
re-grown to stone
from all of the falls

My stomach is full of
candy and grape soda
that’s not a metaphor
that’s just true right now

If there is one thing
I have grown myself
independently
it’s that I am honest.

I am honest
and I am tired
This is the end of my poem.