I wish I was coming out of this
A butterfly 
****, just something with wings

Hasn’t it been a cocoon?
Crying and crawling, desperate times 
We're begging for change
When did it come to this?
I was just thinking about finding
What I’ve hidden 

Guess there was more than I thought

Where did I put it?
I know it’s in here somewhere 
Did it fall between the bed and the wall? 
I’ve dug through all the corners 
Third eye throat stomach swallowing heart
Plenty vulnerable with no discernible 
Skill so I know it’s unlikely but god
There’s a script a book a song or two
A business plan, A landing joke ?
Something somewhere in these poems
All over my floor and tucked into my arm 
Maybe it’s in my phone, probably not

I wish I was better but of course, I am


Even if you can’t see wings 
Maybe they’re bound 
Just under my elbows 


I’m better 
Even if it’s just barely more than before

How simple it feels
to let go of the strings
and fall upwards
into
the stars and such things.

How hard it must be
to love with your heart
but fear that your head
will tear it apart.

What name should I call
when I’m all alone?
Whose hands can stretch out
with one pool of hope?

Whose hands can stay clasped
but gentle- devout-
to keep that wet hope
from drip-dripping out?

From running to drought?

But, my god.
He was just a little boy.

I’d never seen eyes like that,
like the ones that were watching me right then,
hallowed, gauging whether
I might be a threat to him.

Cute when he was happy,
so small, he looked 3.
Because they starved him.

He would talk to you.
Short sentences.
Speech stopped progressing
at age 3.

When he got angry,
he would use horrible words.
The only tool he ever learned
for emotions that he couldn’t understand.

Curses.
Wild threats.
He would spit in your face
and threaten to **** you.

Who taught him that?
His only tools.

But, my god.
He was just a little boy.

Meeting him
at a time that
I was absolutely
powerless,
crumpled
hope and
understanding
reality.

I couldn't help him,
and the ones who could
treated him like
a chore,
mindless work
without reward.

Grown-ups,
tasked to protect him,
held him down
yelling demands of complacency.
What kind of things
did they force on him back home?
Of course, he spits the pills out,
he couldn’t possibly
understand.

There is that
word again.

If you say
“It’s like he’s three.”
Then you cannot
treat him like
a prisoner, for
he has committed no crime.

Oh, god,
they hurt him in so many ways.
I cried for him every night,
barely sleeping the entire week there.
I couldn't imagine how he felt,
alone in that room.

They assumed he’d
attack. I was only
the girl in the wheelchair.

Behind his eyes
Lies an island of nightmares.
There is no turnaround here,
now I know:
I am the one
who couldn’t possibly understand.

- - -
This boy was 7 years old.

I am writing this poem to the universe, itself. Throwing out an aching wish to anyone listening.

Please, please, protect him.

Because my god,
he was just a little boy
who deserves to know what love feels like.

You never really know anyone.
Need an example? Have a stay at in the psych ward.

The girl who caught my eye
after rolling up her sleeves to paint
started to cover scars until
I showed her mine.
She wrote song lyrics on her arms
to remind her that others feel the same way.

There is solidarity.

One girl with the cute afro
and anger issues
cried after yelling at one of the other girls.
She loved to do word searches.

Who says we are in control?

The little girl who bangs her head up against the wall
to rid herself of the demons
looks adorable with her fuzzy blanket
singing along to watching Disney movies on the couch.

Anyone can be effected.

One girl who had to learn to eat again,
wouldn't let you
hate on your own body.
She could
speak 3 languages
and draw like a goddess.

We are more than our pain.

The people living under depression can crack the brightest smiles.
We wouldn’t wish these feelings on anyone-
that’s we always want to crack jokes.

Between the locked doors and gray walls,
we shared stories from days long ago,
we got excited on chicken tender day,
we ran around the gym and painted everything we could-

We are trying to heal.

Next time someone assumes
they know you, but get it all wrong, try
not to get mad,
no matter how hard you have to grind your teeth,
because you know the truth.

The truth that
you never really know anyone,
at the end of the day-
if it helps, don’t worry, nobody really knows you.

i just got home from work, mama

now i understand

i remember wondering why you always had a drink with dinner

now i understand

worked all day long today, till i was exhausted, and i STILL had to go get the eggs and the milk.

now i understand

walked home from the store in the dark, my feet
aching
       burning
                 aching
                            burning
with every step.

now i understand

got my computer out to play music while i cooked dinner for myself, and it was dead. i almost screamed with frustration.

now i understand

this house seems so empty when i'm alone.
i miss you, mama.

i know now why you always had a drink with dinner.
i understand, mama.

and i'm grateful.

they say we are all made of stars
this explains the burning and exploding inside of me
and my studded loneliness in a stellar space