my mother a dying supernova
my father a wandering world
but me — a relentless pawn
blooming from apocalyptic dust

papa taught me:
find what scares you and run
don’t walk
sprint, dive headfirst
plummet as fast as you possibly can in its direction

it’s easy to hate yourself when all your love is inside someone else
string together every hour that nearly ruined you
and tell yourself you are not divine
don’t forget the parts of you that you left behind to get here

mama told me:
you are defined by the sequences of your deoxyribonucleic acid
and by the way in which you hold another’s heart
something strange is that —
sometimes people hurt you because they are afraid to hurt you
but that is one gracefully inevitable fact of being human
and that’s what makes it okay

how far does your empathy go?
does it push your organs aside and permeate your skin?
does it leave your body for a new one altogether?
how lucky are we to have been scathed just enough?

we spend our whole lives trying to force the things we love to intersect
but take it as a truth there can be no other way
surround yourself with people you’d be thrilled to get stuck in traffic with
never underestimate the occasional importance of someone’s gentle company
one day you’ll catch yourself listening to someone
like everything they say is an answer to a question you’ve always had