I. I am not concerned with the grey-colored lenses of passerbies,
I am burning,
the sound of a keyboard klick-klacking
I am the snow my skates shave off as I turn
I was stone but now I am water
I have stared my self-shame and known it was me but
I have pressed on
I am the flesh and life is the blade but
all it takes is scarlet for me to bleed myself back.
I regret the wounds, but not the scars,
I do not blame the stars for the dark of night.
If they can’t see either I’ll light their way.
I am not the shadow behind me or the sunburnt skin peeling off,
it was my choice not to wear sunblock and I will bear the consequences I am
too red to care
I am the age I am because I have chosen to live even though it hurts
I have bitten back and borne pain so that the world would know my name.
You can separate the dreamer from the dream but that doesn’t mean they’ll wake up.
I am imperfect indecision
Self-censored for fear.
I hold back howls despite intention.
I crave connection but cannot piece myself into the puzzle.
I am not shaped satisfactorily. I am shaved down.
I strip myself to quiet quirks.
My full self stands forgotten.
I am better because I don’t back down.
Life taught me courage but
I chose to keep it.
I poisoned my past,
I bore the bad.
I am everything if I endeavor to try.