a boy once told me he loved me.
i told him i needed space.
he begged me not to hurt him.
i hurt him anyways.
a boy once told me he loved me.
but i chose to love myself instead.

You came to me at an interesting time in my life.
You came to me when I chopped my hair into the style they call “butch.”
You met me when I moved out of my parents house and began paying bills and buying
my own cold medication.
You came to me when summer turned to winter, bypassing the fall, and I bypassed the
transitional stages of adolescence straight into adulthood.
You met me when I was faced with the decision of whether or not I would stand up, or
stay face down.
You met me many nights, when I sat alone with the pills and contemplated the dosage
that I’d need to either feel okay or to feel nothing at all.
You were there every time I put the pills away and went to bed instead.
You’re still one of my closest companions.

Every day it seems you come to me and say “Hey butch. Things will get better, including
your awful haircut.”

pick up the pen
crack open my chest
see the ink instead of blood
know that every word I write
is for you

when i was young, we played in the garden behind my house.
you chased me as i chased my brothers and the wind tugged at my braids and freckles stained my cheeks.
you were there as i giggled as my father spun me around and let me dance on his toes.
you came to me in the summer, with endless nights spent skipping rocks at the river.
you came at christmas every year until recently and you came when my mother learned to laugh again, after that dark day in May.
you were there.
you made saturday morning cartoons with uncombed hair the highlight of the week.
you started coming less and less the more i learned about the world, but you were still found in things like chocolate oranges and butterfly kisses.
i find you now, in the phone calls home and the care packages filled with sweet notes.

i've realized that you come in the form of people and places rather than exquisite actions and success.

it’s always this place I come back to.
a broken heart and broken promise lay at my feet. and instead of walking away, i pick them both up, tie them together with a ribbon, and put them both back in my chest, with the hope that next time you won’t break them in the first place.