- Keep Breathing
- Stay Connected, not through screens , but through empathy
- Be better than what broke you
We measure each other’s hurt against our own
Because we cannot fathom healing.
We don’t know how.
I want to tell you all my secrets without the blood rushing to my face,
Without lockjaw wiring my words shut.
I want to be brazen about my truths,
no more hangovers from wreck less vulnerable nights before.
My revelations are children petrified of the high drive–
An entanglement of terrified tightrope walkers along my taste buds,
Cliffhanging confessions begging to let go.
But here I am,
begging the Gods that you’ll open up first,
Be a little braver than me.
The thing is,
love isn’t a staring contest.
The only thing stone faced and unflinching gives you is regrets.
People are always experts
On the lives they’ve never worn
And scars they don’t have.
She didn’t wear her tragedies.
They weren’t dresses she could discard when inconvenient.
Heartbreak doesn’t care about your calendar.
Traumas were moles on her body-
Sometimes visible, despite her best efforts to hide them.
She didn’t regard agony with affect,
Refused to romanticize the gory truths tangled between her ears.
Though they tried,
Men could not evaporate her into fantasy–
Into an idea untethered to skin and memories.
She was person,
If they wanted art,
Purchase a palette of paint.
Her skin was not a canvas for their musings of what women would be.
Men wanted her for the words she illuminated in them.
They wanted to glorify her complications,
Having never lived them.
In the end,
She refused to trade whole for surface,
Knowing there were those out there who will adore her without motive.