I used to be hues of yellow,
Green, blue, purple, and red.
With the sky as my soul
Feeling vibrant and bold
Like the stories I spun in my head.

A girl made of stars
Is bound to burn out
If her light can no longer be fed.
Learned the rules, learned the game,
Then I scrapped my old ways,
Sinking in water that I used to tread.

Your face was a charcoal portrait,
So I touched it to just see you smile.
But I smudged you all up and I’m covered in gray,
And the light, it retreats when I’m in the sun’s rays,
And I feel like the night everyone wishes was day—

But I take a deep breath.

And I find that old spark.

Just to realize that it never even went away.

I hear you, little girl,
You don’t need to hide.

I hear you, little girl,
You don’t need to perform.

I hear you, little girl,
You are now growing into a woman.

I hear you, little girl,
And cry for the things that were stolen.

I cry for you little girl,
You can just be.

I cry for you little girl,
You are brave with much to offer.

I smile for you, little girl,
And am so proud of who you’ve become.

I heal for you, little girl,
And let you rest for a while.

I want to smoke something
And I want to be touched
I am tired of moving and doing
I want to lay down and explore
And sway on someone
Who’s body can support mine
I want to share a laugh with a peer
I want to exist in space
With someone
Has my anxiety been high lately? I wonder
I wonder if something is wrong with me
The little scared child comes from behind the screen
Tears brim in her eyes
And she wonders if she did something wrong
“No” I tell her
As I wrap her in my arms
Put on sweet music
And dance around
“You have never done anything wrong in your life”
And everything becomes okay
And I can lay here
Touch my sternum
And breathe

Sometimes,
I get so angry, I want
to tear open my skin.

Who needs anger management
when you can give yourself
a bloodletting instead?

I want to annotate my wrists
with the names of every person
who ever hurt me--
part the Red Sea with steel.

And I'm pretty sure a phlebotomy
is the closest I'll ever get to a lobotomy
(or an exorcism).

My trauma (my fury) is a toddler
throwing a tantrum in the middle
of the dairy aisle in the supermarket.

I pluck this child--
feral and snivelling--
from my veins and throw
her over my shoulder.

I don't know where her screaming ends
and where mine begins.

Sometimes, I think all she really wants
is a hug.

If little me comes to me
running and asking for help,
I know that I will hold her near
carry her, run faster away from hell
and tell her, "for you I would do anything"

'Life is but a dream,' I question the value of it;
at the edge of life, the edge of time, the edge of our reality;
at the edge of this cliff, we edge ourselves to a falling death.
But what if the fall to our death is like a dream—falling into
a hole, gaining speed close to it's undersurface? We'd wake
up before we hit the ground.

But would I wake up in a cold sweat; or in tears, of longing to
find what lies in the somber of a deep hole? Maybe my soul?
Haha; it's outline must of been shaped by the mind's many dreams,
my child. For what good was it; in the spirit ties of it being lost in the world?  A world at times that doesn't feel as real:
but just a life of a dream.

So by this edge, clutched by the winds of background; hold your
breath before you and I jump. Time may, or may not slow in the
plunge to the valley's undersurface. Still perhaps, this all could be
a dream, and we'll both wake up before we hit the bottom.

Surely it must be, because I don't know a reality to be as brave
to commit such an act. Why pinch yourself, when you've been
pinched by pillars of salt in life—sourness and bitterness?

Oh my inner child, life is but a dream:
and soon we'll both wake up from it.

They all ask me what I want to be after uni
It's no longer when I grow up, though how
Any can consider me so is beyond me
When I still jump onto the low fences like a cat
And traverse them in my absurd boots with barely a bow
When no one is looking, and everyone is watching, what
A fool and a spectacle I make of myself, I care little for
Until I come home, and realise I may have overplayed the clown -
But what was I made for, if not to hang upside down,
And call the world right side up that way? I implore and ignore
You, and you can heed me, or try to read me,
But you'll always need me.

She calls and cries,
But there are only echoes
Bouncing on the walls
Of my empty chest.

She is forgotten.
She gets pushed aside.

𝘞𝘪𝘭𝘭 𝘴𝘩𝘦 𝘦𝘷𝘦𝘳 𝘣𝘦 𝘳𝘦𝘭𝘦𝘢𝘴𝘦𝘥?

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