Make them whisper to each other, ‘just who is that new girl?’
Turn their knowing eyes into awescapes
like children eating their first bit of ____(your favorite childhood nostalgia treat goes here)____.
I want to talk to our inner children
the way we should’ve always been spoken to.
our feelings given acres to run and scream and play tag,
losing our breath in the language of laughing together.
I want to write the kind of poem that makes my other poems starstruck.
I used to want that for the scoreboards,
for my ego,
for _____(your own truth goes here)____.
so I could slip into sleep at night like, ‘they like me. they rly like meeeeee!!’
and I am a shit ton of things but I am not liar
so I will tell you a window into the bedroom of myself.
I’ll tell you that, on some nights, I still do this. It’s comforting
but comfort is a safehouse
and many nights I use it as my own personal grief escape plan.
Spoiler: It fails every time.
My god, isn’t that beautiful?
that my grief is a song refusing to be unheard.
Just like me.
Just like you.
I want to write this kind of poem for my future self
and my present one.
for the becoming and the became.
I want that because tomorrow me will always write
the truest poem they can
and I love that for
all of us.
& 