Let me keep this simple - I do not
like my face, my hair, the veins that
pop and throb and burst from
my hands; I do not like my voice or
the way it sounds and scratches at
this air, this space, this empty layer
of skin and feelings that hang around
me like a bog. I woke in my ****, clawed
at my eyes to have them open; I banged
and shouted at my face to have it look
differently, slightly, highly better than
this but instead of doing as I commanded,
it stopped and smirked and smiled at me
with such god-awful bravado that as I turned
it barked at me from the glass bubble that
could so easily shatter, I know you - like no-
one else - and that scares me the most. I was
in a class, windows peaked open, and I
swore I heard a voice - it was my own.
I heard you, I heard you for the first time
then, but you did not say “I’m scared”, you
just told me, I know, I know, I know this
can be scary, but that is okay, that is
okay, you are okay.

I am okay.