i am made to burn in the sun until my eyes bleed and the rays singe my skin and every organ until they set fire to my mind.
i was taught that the world was beautiful, green forest, soft water, kind people, take someone’s hand and they won’t flinch because we’re all the same, really.
i didn’t take up the mirror and study myself until it was later at night than usual when i was alone and a bit too sad and all i could see of my face was broken glass.
i have a few achy joints and i’m mostly okay with them because they are just jammed up with misplaced feelings i didn’t want to talk about; they are the closets of words in my skeleton.
fear is a commonality because little voices like to talk to me and tell me the world’s deepest, darkest secrets and they scare me so i hide away.
i’m okay with lots of types of words, actually, spoken and written and sung and sometimes even cried or screamed words when i need them.
i am learning to look in the mirror and not see pieces and voices and bones but to see words that illuminate me; to see a beautiful person, learning to grow without roots.