It started with ankles, then knees, then thighs,
A modest approach, where fabric complied.
Long sleeves, long skirts, and hems to the floor,
Clothing had purpose—what else could it be for?

Then slowly, the hemlines crept up the legs,
Skirts turned to shorts, but who’s counting the dregs?
Sleeves shrank to straps, collars lost their place,
And fashion just kept up the rapid pace.

The waistline dropped, the cuts got more daring,
Backs, shoulders, and sides—nothing left for sparing.
Tops got shorter, skirts didn’t exist,
The more we revealed, the more we missed.

And then the dressmakers said, “Now what?”
Just how much less could we possibly plot?

Nine years of waiting, of staying in place,
A decade of time that has no clear trace.
Unseen, unheard, just existing, I breathe—
The years have piled up, and still, I don’t leave.

The questions come easy, but answers come slow,
"Do you cook? Do you travel? Where do you go?"
I smile, I shrug, I say "No" and pretend,
As if answers can fix it, as if it will end.

The silence gets louder with every year passed,
The hope of it changing grows brittle, not fast.
Once, there were problems, small ones to face—
Now, all I have is this still, empty space.

But I hide, I don’t speak, I don’t share,
Pretend it’s all fine, like I’m unaware.
But deep inside, I know it’s worse now,
I missed the old days, but I don’t know how.

Because somehow, it feels like I’m fighting the tide,
Like the weight of my years is pulling me wide.
I’m 30, they say, as if it should sting,
But I’ve learned to find strength in this untold thing.

This is the greatest challenge I’ve ever known,
Not the worst, but the fight that I own.
The struggle inside is mine and mine alone,
And I carry it proudly, though I'm often unknown.

They say time will heal, but I think that’s a lie—
It’s the fight, not the healing, that gets you to fly.
I don’t know the answer, but this I believe:
The greatest of challenges are ones you can’t leave.

So here's to nine years, and the decade to come,
I’ll keep facing this battle, even if I’m numb.
The world may not see, but I’ll carry it still,
A story of resilience, and an unbroken will.

The first time love slipped from my grip,
It wasn’t just my heart that fell,
I dropped out of school, lost in the drift,
A double hit — a painful spell.

Books left unfinished, dreams put on pause,
The weight of both heartbreak and choice,
All at once, a silence that gnaws,
And my future lost its voice.

But then, in time, a love took root,
A first real bond that felt so true,
And with it, came a moment so absolute —
Graduation day, the sky so blue.

I stood tall, with love by my side,
Joy and pride where sadness once lay,
A new chapter, with hope as my guide,
A heart now healed, ready to sway.

The first heartbreak, the first love,
A time of loss, a time of gain,
One took me down, the other above,
Both shaping me, through joy and pain.

Other people say wrong, and I say right,
They see darkness, I bask in the light.
They say bad, I say good,
I stand firm, misunderstood.

They say sad, I say glad,
I find joy when they feel bad.
Like Alma Filcott, I wear my grin,
When the world’s frown pulls me in.

You can't make me happy,
While making them all feel the same.
I don’t need your cheer,
To play the happiness game.

For I know my joy is mine to keep,
In a world where others weep.
So let them grumble, let them sigh,
I’ll stay true, with my head held high.

They seek answers, I seek peace,
While they fret, I find release.
For my joy is my own to own,
And it grows when I stand alone.

They ask if I'm okay,
As if they have the right to say,
To meddle in the life I lead,
And offer up their “helpful” creed.

“Get a job,” they tell me, “just a start,”
“Go to therapy, fix your heart.”
But once I do, they criticize,
For not working enough or working with lies.

They judge my struggle, my poverty’s weight,
Then blame me when I can’t articulate,
What’s wrong, what’s right, what’s left to fix—
Though they never showed me how to speak those tricks.

They say, "Just enjoy, live with ease,"
But how can they know what brings me peace?
They can't read my mind, can't see my soul,
And yet, they think they know me whole.

If only they could see, like Truman’s show,
All my thoughts, all the places I go,
Maybe then they'd understand,
That I don’t need their hand.

I solve my own, no need to explain,
In the end, there’s no real pain.
I am okay, always was,
No problem here, just because.

Some say they would have reached the stars,
If only someone had pushed them far.
But my dad, Chris, Elle, and I—
We had no hands to lift us high.
In fact, we had the weight of doubt,
People pulling us, trying to block us out.

Yet, there was something we could feel,
A spark inside that made us real—
A force so deep, it lit our way,
It’s what kept us moving, day by day.

My dad found joy in Uncle's smile,
Chris in a man with a car so wild.
Elle found strength in love once lost,
And I, too, found a muse at a cost.

It wasn’t the push that made us rise,
It was the spark that opened our eyes.
For when you're inspired, you find your power,
And nothing can take it in your darkest hour.

No pull, no doubt, no cruel dismissal—
An inspiration is far more official.
Stronger than forces that try to control,
It lifts the spirit, it fuels the soul.

Do I like dogs?
Well, it depends, you see,
On the dog, on the cat,
On the way they greet me.

Some dogs are sweet,
Others are loud and strong,
Some cats are distant,
Others purr all day long.

I like them all, I guess,
But birds speak to my heart,
Their songs, their wings,
They’re a world apart.

But if you ask,
"Do you like people too?"
My answer is simple:
No, not really—few.

I need to know the animal,
The way they move,
Their moods, their quirks,
Before I can approve.

So I’m a dog person,
But not in the broadest sense,
I’m a bird person at heart,
And a creature’s best friend—
When they make sense.