i press my fingers into peony petals, feeling their density, cold, even in summer.
you talk like you mean everything you say. you feel like the sun, you feel like warm water in kiddie pools and
grass on bare feet, messy, muddy, just like the color of your eyes and
nostalgia tastes sweet but its hard to wash off of your hands. summer is just around the corner and
i feel it like ive felt it every year since i was nine. i allow myself to say that this is more than just a scrape. i allow myself to realize this hurts so much worse than
falling off my bike. (gravel in my palms, my mother kissed my bleeding hands and smiled. this is something she cant heal with neosporin and a kiss on the forehead; the only person who can help me is myself.)
i take baths in peroxide and still dont feel clean, i wake up in the morning like ive just been reborn, i think about how everything is so beautiful.
i lay under the peony bush. i let the falling petals baptize me. i promise my mother that i'll be okay and for once, i believe it.
this is messy but i never write about anything happy even though im so in love with the world