I am built of ashes and bones and guilt-tripped sundaes topped with cherry-loving men,
I am built of fire and stains of tears and blood and cussing standing in a pool of muck I see my feet sink into the floor I cannot move I am not allowed to exist no more.
I am built of dedication and love, I'm growing up, I am made of courage and flattery I am a tangled, troubled mess,
I am built of flowerbeds and boyshort underpants and digital pictures taken as I jump, my hair flying.
I am built of pretty things and sixteen eyes, two spiders curled up in the outskirts of my mind.
I will survive.