my body is a symphony of sounds
like the
             snap
               —crackle—
                                               pop!
                                of my bones as i stretch and climb the stairs,
                                                         ­                                        the
                     ­                                                                 ­ thud.
                                                           ­              thud.
                                                           thud.
                of my heart, frantic in its rest.
                a shrill ringing underpins it all
        when my ears ***** to a phantom sound,
the
    \gasping\
                               |huffing|
            ­                                      sighing
                                                   ­                   keeps the beat of uncooperative lungs.

               my body, like an old house where teenagers throw a party,
                                 finding a way to keep it alive for one more night.

physically I have no symmetry
and it doesn’t even bother me
my physical state is electrical
and internally I am symmetrical

a love so big it's my counterpart
symmetrically matching my flesh parts
an existence created as a work of art
able to outsmart any black heart

understanding this duality
is the best of you loving the best of me
and I believe you will get there eventually
to your own symmetrical mentality

God did not mean to give me a mouth.
He meant to give me hands, eyes, a heart
but not a mouth.
When I speak something in me bleeds. When I-
I speak, and my eyes fog over like glass.  
I can't see you standing there, I'm so sorry. Show me again, where did you put the bread?  

I feel like a thing that needs to be forgiven.

I feel so fragile sometimes.
I am trying to understand the
weight of the evil inflicted upon me.
It is heavy. I never understood that 'till now.

I wasn't meant to carry this weight, but I do.
I wasn't meant to speak the way I
so often will, but I do.

What can I say anymore?
I can't write without bleeding. I can't speak without knowing it is a wound. How can I communicate without tearing something open? I'm afraid of shutting up and looking for my language. If I decide to leave behind every word that hurts me, would I have any words left? Will it **** the little bit of connection with people I have left?

Listen.
I hope you forgive me for the little sadness I'll inspire in you.
I am afraid, but don't pity me. I am blossoming and becoming something else.
This, apotheosis, this becoming closer and closer to my own light.
It is a process that requires allowing death.
What must die must die. Allow grief.

I'll leave you with this:
If you slept next to me, it would be
much like sleeping with a letter under your pillow.
Every night, every night...

*"Here I write to you a list of cruelties I am capable of.
May you never forget:
I have made the flower so that it may blossom, and I have made the lamb so that it may eat it.
Blessed be the one willing to become.
Here, the flower. Here, the lamb."

- God

noun
the sampling of amniotic fluid using a hollow needle inserted into the ******, to screen for developmental abnormalities in a fetus.

...

Not everything about you
is on that little screen; 
not in your number of chromosomes,
not in your misshapen genes. 

Yet everyone talks about you,
as if they know you:
"impaired cognitive abilities"...
"50% chance of being stillborn"...
"impacts the family unit"...

Your life and capacity for love
will never be defined by your DNA,
but rather by your smile and
your laughter and 
your heart
and
and
and
...

In short, my love, 
you cannot be defined by what is missing
but rather by what you can
and will be when you arrive 
in all your humanity

Take the "La" out of Label for they are more than a diagnosis,
They are fathers who have immigrated to a new country while hiding the schizophrenia they battle just to uphold employment,
They are mothers who sustain households while silencing themselves for their family's protection,
They are sister's who step up and raise siblings while charading stability,
They are brothers who mask realities to rejuvenate positivity,
They are families that have undergone generational trauma to pave a path for a brighter tomorrow,
Disabilities - mental illness - mental health - are not deficits of identity; they bolster morale and resilience in the BIPOC community.

These are the students that fight the notions of normality to reduce the stigma,
These are the scholars that rewrite the narrative in pursuit of decolonizing the education system,
These are the individuals who are representing an ever-growing population,
These are the souls that have abilities which surpass the medical  confinement of their disabilities.

I hear it
Again and again
I do not “function“
Like the rest

Every day
Is a battle
Will I hurt?
Will I move?
Nonetheless, I have to function

Even when I can‘t

I eat pills
For breakfast
Like greed personified
I swallow them - I do not chew.

I eat pills like candy but how can I help it?

My body is aching
My muscles are trembling
Is this addiction
Or is this dependence

How am I different
From someone who cant
Live without drugs
Because it causes them pain
When I eat my candies
To dull my agony

I eat pills like candy
I must be a sweet tooth
Yet I don‘t enjoy it
But others believe that I have to

Did you know I like to dance?
You do not, I’m sure.
For how can a person who can’t even walk
dream of something bolder?

But I love how my muscles breathe
and how my soul flows
when I spread my arms and
let myself go.

I like to let my arms become the limbs of a willow,
let my legs become the wings of a bird,
let my body become the stream flowing towards a river,
let my soul be taken to the free sea

Life has placed me into a small glass
barred from the outside ocean that promises freedom.
I could only watch through the transparent veil
while my flesh bound me to the ground.

But one day I’ll fly, I know it
I feel it in my blood.
One day the glass will shatter
and I’ll dissolve into bubbles
unchained from pain.

Sometimes this world is a little too big,
Sometimes the day is a little too long,
Sometimes the room is a little too loud,
Sometimes the words are a little too wrong.

Today all the walls were a little too small,
Today when you said you were scared to go home.
Today when you could have just buckled and fell,
Today when you said that you'd face it alone.

Tonight will be phone calls.
Tonight will be protective services.
Tonight will be investigations into the people who are supposed to love you and keep you safe.

Today you are 18.

Maybe tomorrow will be sunny.