I have been watching myself for years.
It has taken years to destroy each knot
each rule, each limit, and each principle
to finally accept that a fractured self is still capable of wholeness.
Chains and fences and harsh lines
These things I built up so tightly
for a sense of purpose and identity.
Proximity to perfection is not synonymous with safety
Although it can feel that there is no truer guideline
than one's own.
We must allow space to fail and meet our limits
meet our shadows
connect with our benefactor, humility.
To constantly be running toward an undetermined end
is to be critical with no reward.
When will you ever be good enough for yourself
if you never stop to sit and look around.

She smiles because she's your go-to child
The one that gets all the praise
The one who accepts all your rage
Even as she's growing
You won't ever know it
Because hormones are bad
And mood-swings won't ever be had
Even though she hates it
She smiles as she fakes it
Her facade or innocence
Is quite actually painfully brilliant
She has everyone around her finger
Though the tightness of it always stings her
She smiles as she's called sweet
Kind and lovely
Smart and hardworking
Honest and trustworthy
Strong and preserving
Beautiful and genuine
Because she's not she's
Mean and unlikeable
Dumb and lazy
A liar and unhonest
Ugly and fake
But somehow no one sees
Her broken and horrid self
Through her sickly sweet
Kind and innocent
Full of joy and love
Fake facade

Education
Something that is revered for its ability to change people's lives for the better, help people escape poverty, change the world.

For me?
School almost killed me.

At face value, it doesn't make much sense.
I wasn't being bullied, ridiculed.
I excelled.

But without my identity as the "smart kid" and doing well in school, I thought I was nothing.
Had no other skills or values to contribute.
I tried hard to break free from this thinking,
Tried so incredibly hard,
But this feeling haunted me.
For many years.

I know that's harsh and not true, but my brain was hell bent on this reality.
So I pushed myself to untold lengths to excel in undergrad, tiptoeing on a balance beam, bad marks threatening to push me off the ledge.

No way to live.

Being out of school and in work I learned that I was so much more than a student.
A volunteer, friend, girlfriend, daughter, granddaughter, hiker, traveller, runner, baker, advocate, warrior.
This saved my life.

So it makes sense now back in full-time school again where memorization and multiple choice rules that I feel the familiar sensation that all I am is a student and a slave to school.
It makes sense the transition has been insanely difficult when I'm returning to what nearly killed me.

This time, I know better, I'm in control.
I will not allow school to take its toll.
I will protect myself and who I've grown to be,
and never let school be the end of me.

Her voice like a song
Running its fingertips through my hair
Ivory chords and wind blowing
Orange-coloured like that of dawn
Soft like a laugh and syrup

Her music isn’t just noises, and all along
It twists and dances like spells in the air
Emerald notes and feeling flowing
Blue-coloured like the sand and sea’s bond
Sweet like love as you try to keep up

She swings bright and long
Skipping in the sky with me, kind and fair
Quartz singing and so much heart showing
Violet-coloured like the rest of them, gone
Short like time we have, siphoned from our cup

But I’m a cacophony compared to her song
It’s all just noises and all along
I cry when I fall, harsh and long
I’m a cacophony when compared to her song

But I can’t hear the music playing in my hair
It’s angled and tripping over all of the air
I see what she sees, but it’s mean and not fair
I can’t hear the music that plays in my hair

But I fail and it’s dusk when she is the dawn
It’s low tide and the water breaks its bond
I run and I scream and my sound is gone
I fail and it’s dusk when she’d rather be dawn

But I prefer plain and not sticky sweet syrup
It’s hard to try but I must and I cannot give up
I wish for a drink, but from my still empty cup
I am quite plain and not sticky sweet syrup.

I do too much,
Away too often.
I do too little.
Chaos at home.
The laundry piles up,
The house in shambles.
The garden grows wild,
The grass too long.
Not enough.

I am too busy,
Restless nights.
Take my rest,
Feels like a sin.
Too busy with others,
I lose myself.
Choosing for me,
Leaves me filled with guilt.
Still not enough.

I care—
But maybe too much.
Pour out all my love,
Yet miss your rhythm.
I want to be there,
But I struggle with time.
Thought caring was my strength.
But I disappear while trying.
It’s just never enough.

Sometimes I’m [deadname]. She is Dominican mango. Perfectly sweet. She wears dresses and skirts, she is a princess. She is perfectionistic, soft-spoken, and proper, just as her mother is. She thinks that academics are the only thing that she can prove her worth with, but doesn’t let anyone know. She feeds off of the validation of others. She strives to be at the top of her class, anything less would make her a failure. She never stops until she succeeds, never giving up. She is smart. She is successful. She is perfect. She is my cursed present. She is [deadname].

Sometimes I’m [dead-nickname]. She is slightly unripe guava. She is bitter-sweet, delivering a punch of flavor. She is like the innocent child who has yet to learn the dreads of living. She is playful and loves doing her doll’s hair, braiding and brushing it, just as her mother does for her. She makes bracelets and handwritten cards as presents, writing all the little poems that flow through her mind like the wind flowing through the trees. She loves the swings at the park, flying high. She is like a bird that has yet to leave the nest. She is brave. She is playful. She is creative. She was my childhood. She is [dead-nickname].

Sometimes I’m Lumin. They are starfruit. Bold, sweet and sour, tangy and ****. They are bright, like the celestial wonder they were named after. They light up any room they walk into as their outspoken and unforgiving self. Their luster makes others stop and stare. They are like a warrior that would do anything to defend the people they love. A leader that leaves no soldier behind. They don’t let anyone tell them what to do. They are brave. They are confident. They are bright. They are my future. They are Lumin.

They all struggle to coexist in this world. They never get along, fighting like siblings. But they jumble up and create the mess of a person that I am. I wish that I could live by the name that is me, but walls of steel stop me from fulfilling it. So, for now, I’m [deadname], [dead-nickname], and Lumin.

They determine our strength with no brains
We get our brains with the lack of strength
To find balance in this life is unobtainable
Unless you are the propaganda itself

With tests, they see how smart we are
With miles, they see how far we run
Run, run away from it all
But you won't get anywhere

They reward us with worthless prizes
They drown us in our unfamiliar seas
They overwork us with all we know
Is the haunting propaganda outside?

Propaganda. Manipulates us all
To believe it is utterly flawless
Flawless, you must be flawless
Flaws show ugliness and mistakes

Mistakes? There are no mistakes
When you are talking about propaganda