Coming back into my body

Every inch of flesh  

Building on my bones

Strong enough to run

Strong enough to dance

Strong enough to smile

Strong enough to laugh

Looking in the mirror and seeing myself again

Through clear, hazel eyes with blue on the brim

And I think to myself

My reflection is beautiful

My reflection is clean

My reflection is calm

My reflection is kind

My reflection is me

And I love my crooked smile

And I love my tiny waist

And I love my sweet hips

And I love my big heart

And the way I laugh

It’s like God is blessing my body
with a thousand kisses
every time someone tells a joke

When I feel myself

Coming back into my body

And even if I’m just some ***** headed, cherry sipping, Coca Cola drinking wildflower

Even if I’m just someone’s woman,

Someone’s daughter, someone’s sister, and someone’s friend

I can feel myself

Coming back into my body

Where I am free

Water in my roots
And once again, my stems bleed me out of an aquamarine cyclone
Flying through every cloud, floating through the dopamine daydreams
manias and monotones
After a decade of droughts
I twirled in a tornado
While the demons ate my brain
So I designed a tavern
To lock myself in

Water in my roots
And once again, a blurred vision of ecstasy blinds my eyesight
Looking in opaque mirrors, pressing the pearls of the pendulum
sepias and saxophones
I danced through a hurricane
While the angels saved my torso
So I tore the broken chains
To let myself out

I left Billy last summer, and at first it was hard
To not feel her blankets weigh me down
into a pentagon pool of starches and creams
To not feel her sugar rush supreme
through the highs and the lows
of an extra-large platform
Until she resurfaced, kissing my lips
raw until my throat burned dry
And I knew she had to let me go.

..
Will you take a walk with me
Cast your gaze towards the sea
To let the day thaw for a time
And shrug off the moil
For here there is no quarrel
Just the serenity of sweet friendship sublime.

I hid
So I could go out
I wore the mask
Of self doubt
From being broken
Too many times
I hid my face
To pretend I was
      Fine.


                    -L.Frost

A questionnaire of my family history is only a monologue I tell myself.
Practicing in front of the mirror to get better.
So, the next time the doctor’s words I am sorry falls back into their lips.
& I am onto my feet.
A vapid, monologue screenplay.
The rehearsed version of my life.
Answering the questions.
Somehow still fumbling through the words.
Yet leaving voids in my answers as my family’s members absence did.
Mother?
Two strokes. She’s alive but not apparent enough to know it.
Her blood runs too thick.
Blood pressure always boiling.
Mother knew how to live fast but never well enough.
Father?
Dead. He was alive but never long enough to hold it.
Heart always dropping and head into the palms of his hands.
Thirst never stopping.
Alcoholism is a wicked thing I say.
Siblings?
Brother. Alive somehow not present enough to count it.
Healthy. We count his days as tick-tack-toe though.
Family history has a lineage that says the roots in this family tree are rotten.
Sister. Victim to mental health.
The prodigy of a broken foster system.
I reckon her days are counted in lines.
Between days she’s alive & the days she wishes she wasn’t.
The doctor does an homage in the way she bows her head.
Makes the hollowed-out chest of mine seem like it’s filled with water.
I let out a gasp.
Trying to fill the room where all the air has seemed to have evaporated.
Hoping to catch my breath.
My story filling their break room like a lingering coffee smell.
Keeping them brewed in satisfaction that it could always be worse.
My story always seemed like the punch line for better days.
Our family has been waiting since genesis for such.
These are the days I wish I believed in something.
A god to drown every nightfall with dawn.

Resurface
Reverb,
Renewal,
Revive—
Speak into Mother Earth
And our existence will thrive