my hands are far too full
to touch the faces of boys
who have left me behind.
my hands were made for
holding the universe together,
for catching shooting stars
in the palm.
they are meant for
flying over piano keys,
for writing down all the words
i want to remember, for
making hot chocolate
on the latest of nights.
they are not there to
reach behind me
for someone who isn’t coming back.
it took twenty one years
but all at once, i feel like a person
who tucks her own damn self
into bed, who
stays up late drinking
wine with people she loves, who
wears a short skirt to the party.
all at once, i use lotion,
i eat vegetables, i only wear
clean pajamas.
i have picked myself up off the floor
enough times for my sadness
to stop being interesting.
my damsel-in-distress routine
had an expiration date, after all
and now, all my dreams are
everywhere all at once --
of getting married,
of having friends and keeping them,
of being the kind of person
i can be proud of being.
they are twisting through the soles of my feet
like vines, something strong,
with roots. i am sick of
fleeting promises and
flimsy maybe-nots
i am only in the market for the
deep and long-lasting.
and without even knowing how,
here i am:
the strongest thing you’ve ever seen.