7th grade, she told me,
"I don't want to live,"
I can't take it as a joke.
The fear of goodbyes.

8th grade, a friend of a friend,
It could've been him,
The way her face contorted
As she said goodbye.

I lost sleep, just to talk.
Would it be the end,
If I left my broken friends?
I lost sleep, for them.

In 9th grade, he told me,
I made him say it,
"I will see you tomorrow."
I said that nightly.

A promise. It meant hope.
The worst days' nights,
I'd say it again, with love.
It was a promise.

Words are everything here,
One mistake, it's over.
I may not hear his voice again
If I don't sway him.

Pressure, is this love now?
I'm so scared, always.
He came first, after all this.
I had to leave him.

Feeling selfish, alone,
I had to leave him.
Now getting close, major fear,
Terminal goodbyes.

I'll love you, for a while,
I might not get close,
It's overwhelming, dear god,
The fear of goodbyes.

I will steal myself from this earth

And take my arms and my heart and my car and just drive for days and days and days and become the stars I gather between my hands in the dead of night,

Gather the sun and the moon and the planets that spin with the rings,

Gulp it all down in a jar of lonely tomato-flavored candy tears,

I am built of the stars I gather 'tween my hands in the dead of night, I am built of regrettable cherry orchard prints on the walls of not a house but a home,

I am built of late night music and unshakable starry skies, I am built of diamonds and gold,

And I will steal myself, and take my arms and my heart and my car, and just drive

My my, what a special little snowflake.

Why did you choose to be this way?

You chose to be different, you chose to rebel.
No binary for me!

You chose the grief, the pain.
You chose this abuse, bruised by
the verbal ferociousness, forged by physical fallacies
To be thrown out of bathrooms
because doing your business in the bathroom is abysmal.
You chose to be derided by decisive discrimination.
You chose to be murdered by misconceptions,
***** by ridiculous requirements.
You chose to be beaten, assaulted.
You chose the words I weave to weaken your will.
You chose the sacred sermons I spit at you.

You chose to be
What I find disgusting, despicable
because you chose to be what you aren't,
but I realize what I really regard you to be.

My my, what a special little bigot.

You think I chose to be this way?

You think
I chose the injuring, injustice,
the jester, the joke
the target, tortured,
This pain, my poison,
the prey, praying,
the sinner of sins so bittersweet,
So I could be "special"?

Special isn't a sacrifice of physical self
Nor the gunshots and gruesome grief
Nor even the crass comfort of a half-assed comrade.
You think I CHOSE this,
and you didn't choose
to spit and spew your sour speeches
to disperse your disgust in discrimination
to integrate your ignorance into my existence.
Or did you not choose
to deal the abuse
by your hand
yourself?

My special little bigot,
You live as you are.

So be it, if I am so "special", the special little snowflake.
Yes, we are the little snowflakes that your palm's presence melts away,
And you're that burning persistence of life
Blocking with your own self our slow, wistful descent,
As if it were futility and not of your own will.

If I am the snowflake, you are the fire.

You have the soul of a lion
Buried deep beneath lessons
Of inferiority and knowing your place
They've told you where you belong
How you're meant to be
But they're wrong

Deep inside you is a predator
Itching for you to see
See the fire in your eyes
Or feel the sharpness of your teeth and tongue
You may not have the mane you want
But you have a mane of fire
Burning from your soul
Pushing free from your skin

No man can stand a lion
You are more powerful than your body
More important than their words
You're the king of the Savannah
And the king of your heart
All you need to do
Is find your roar