What you're wearing is not--
You bought the shirt yourself, to remind you of a trip.
The black jeans are from your mother,
                            are from a branch of a store that started back home
Your bracelet is a reminder of your host mother, who made it,
                           (and because you like purple)
Your glasses you need to see, are years old, with constant smudges,
Your hair is plaited because
         your mom used to give you french braids, daily,
         and it's since become a nervous habit
Your hair tye is just old, and used, from
                                           you don't even remember what year.

So, what you're wearing, it's not meaningless.
                                                    ­                              -- it's who you are.
It's the people you miss and the things you keep -
Because you've moved, so many times now, that you know
that everything you own fits into about 12 boxes, and
that's alright.

But it means that what you own -
what you own, is who you are.

And if that's the case,
then you're a mix of anyone who's ever been kind to you -
and that's a lot. A whole lot.

You
            belong
              here,
           right on
             the tip
              of my
             tongue.

              Life is
            way too
               short.

               Break
            the rules:
              forgive
              quickly,
          kiss  slowly,
            love like
               crazy,
             be loyal,
              and be
              faithful
           and  never
               regret
            anything
                 that
                made
            you smile.

              Love is
            not proud,
              it's kind,
             it's patent
             and never
                 fails.
                                                                                        Jon York   2019

The bravest are the ones who stand up for themselves.
They are my friends, known and unknown, who are made to feel small.
And they feel every blow as it hits them,
as it tears through their spirit,
through everything they thought they were -
And then they let their roots be planted and regrown in tainted ground,
re-learn corner by corner of this once home,
until the walls are no longer monsters, waiting to jump out and attack --
take it back for themselves.

And shielding others is one thing, but standing up for your self -
Standing up for yourself, there are paper thin walls.
Standing up for yourself, you have everything left to lose.

And yet they stand, on their own two feet,
perhaps trembling, perhaps crying, perhaps desperately wanting to hide,
but still they stand and say, "You have done me wrong."
Say, "This was not something I deserved."
And the strength grows back into their bones like armor,
this new, beautiful, unwavering, shield of courage,
that never should have been taken away.