I wish I could tell you why I’m afraid of the world.
Why when I was little I thought I was supposed to be a girl,
and how I grew into myself too quickly
while growing out of myself even quicker.

How I’m still growing but I’m not getting taller.
It confused me in catholic school when confessing to the father
that I knew far too much.

How he told me, “You are the sinner,
In life there is no winner,
and we have to roll with the punches God throws.”

Why does God have to hit us with blows
from a fist too big to
miss?

This “unbearable lightness of being”
makes me want to float through the ceiling.
And I’m not quite sure of what I’m seeing,
but it isn’t worth believing.