Blistered Hands

my blistered hands
have forgotten what it felt like to
reach for something that isn't
running in the opposite direction

forgive me if i doubt your love
for i have never held something
that didn't slip through my fingers
whenever i looked away

every time i wake with
a kiss on my cheek and
my heart safely in your hands

you are giving me
a break from
reaching because
you are
always
right here

Raindrops and Oceans

The rain creates streams on my windshield
as tears do the same down my cheeks,
soaking my t-shirt and,
though my vision’s too blurry to
make out the letters and
my fingers too shaky to
press the right buttons,

I find your name on my phone.

I hold my breath long enough to
press that green button and
listen for
your voice.

Too many times
I’ve sat alone
drowning in my own sea of
sadness,
not even attempting to
swim,

but now, I am suddenly
fighting
against the current long enough to
reach for
your hand.

You hold me
and that sea shrinks into a
puddle
for us to jump in
and I know

when the rain starts again,

you’ll be there

to hold my
umbrella.

My Coming Out Story

I took a deep breath and swallowed
hard trying to rid myself of the
fear that found a home
blocking my throat.
Words forgotten the moment they left my lips and you stared right
through me. I watched your mind
tracing every action and reaction you’ve ever seen that wasn’t the
typical
straight girl aesthetic.

“You really need to think about this”
That’s what you managed to say.
Think
My hands shake with every sound you make
Think
I do nothing but think
Think
I wouldn’t crumble your world with this news if I didn’t think
Think
I can’t think anymore

“This is a burden I don’t want you to carry”
Burden
I am a burden
Burden
You are burdened
Burden
But my life isn’t a crime committed in the dead of night with loaded guns and ski masks
Think
My life is not a sex scene in that movie you thought was kid-friendly
Burden
I shouldn’t have to bury my face in the sleeves of my hoodie
Think
I shouldn’t have to make up a comfy chair and carefully choose my words
Burden
I shouldn’t have to avoid eye contact with the girl across the room because I do not have a
dick between my legs
Think

“Are you sure?”
Do you think I’m fucking sure?
Do I need to provide a folder of evidence for you?
Should I film the intimate nights in a dimly lit room?
Do you want to be in that room when we brush against each other’s bare skin?
Would that prove it to you?
Think. Burden. Think. Burden

“Maybe it’s just her…”
Actually it is her.
That’s the fucking point.
Maybe I love her.
Maybe I love girls.
Maybe –

“Why don’t you try…”
No.
No I will not try to fit into your mold.
No I will not pretend for the comfort of those who can’t see past who I
fuck to see that I am a real person.

I am a person.

Please understand that.

Please, mom,

Understand.

Broken Home

When I was four, my mom asked me if she should divorce my father.

She looked at me through
tears in her eyes,
relocating
her right shoulder.
The wall she was
pushed into moments before
broke under the pressure of her
fragile bones and
she was barely standing.
I searched for her
happiness in
the ashes that used to be a
loving father and caring husband,
but the wind blew them away and
there was
nothing
left.

When I was four, my mom asked me if it would be okay to divorce my father.

She did not want her
children to be
from
a broken home,
so instead
me and my brothers lived
inside
a broken home,
broken walls,
broken bones.
But at least
the windows remained
intact.
At least the screams remained
behind doors,
behind smiles,
behind pretending.

When I was four, I got really good at pretending.

Whenever I started to speak,
I remembered that the
perfect strokes of this
painting would become
messy
if the words fell from my tongue.
I swallowed them like
poison
and they devoured
my wellbeing
creating scars to be
explained away by
pretending.
I got really good at
pretending.
My mom taught me well.

When I was four, my mom asked me if she should divorce my father.

When I was four, my mom didn’t listen when I said yes.