I wanted to write
Something perfect.
But,
“Pobody is nerfect.”
Every sunbaked afternoon,
And rainy day,
Every crunch
Beneath my feet
Of salt and snow,
Every deap breath,
On my way
To an hour of safety.
Did I ever tell you
That I liked to
Stare intently at
The fiber art on the wall
Of the third floor waiting room?
There one that looks like a waterfall,
One that looks like eggs,
And one that looks like
An angry speech bubble.
I remember being young,
And not telling you
The whole truth,
Then growing up,
And shifting uncomfortably
In my chair
While being more honest
Than I knew I could be.
You had a white electric tea ***
On your windowsill,
Kept company
By a stack of colorful mugs,
(The orange one was my favorite.)
I recall sipping tea with you
When I had a cold.
Pobody’s nerfect.
Who is “them”?
Feel your feels.
I am a mountain.
I talk a lot,
And I mean a lot...
I’m sure
You already know that.
But I don’t have the words
For years
Of smiling,
Crying,
And bad words,
Growing up,
Smeared makeup,
My first job,
And learning
To love myself.
I hope you have
A tea ***
In your new office,
And your cat clock.
I hope someone else
Gets to grow up
With your help,
And remembers the things
That I remember.
I’m sure many already have.
Thursday’s were for breathing,
Tuesday’s were for closure.
I’m going to live my life
Carrying your words
Tucked behind my ear,
And I’m going to make you proud.
Thank you,
For the high speed
Emotional
Puberty.
-Layna
