I saw you today.
Your shoulders filled the frame.
Your eyes looked like pools of hope.
I looked away every three seconds,
pinched myself—
Is this real?

I spoke to you yesterday.
We laughed.
Intimacy is scary.
The faceless souls on the internet
make me feel safe.

They don’t know how I look,
how my hair flies everywhere.
It’s easier, you see.
They’ll never see my thighs,
or squirm at my nose.
But you—
you will see it all.

You are the sun,
and I am the moon.
I’m scared of the eclipse.
When everyone photographs it,
I stay hidden under covers.

How can I tell you?
How can I tell you
about the dreams and demons?
You are so bright—
I’m scared I won’t help the shine.

Pen touches paper
All I write is still your name
My heart stays the same

What I fear the most
Is being not enough for the world.
I tell myself every day:
You are trying. It’s not easy.
Be kind—it’s the mindset.

Alas, I fail.

I didn’t care for my mother.
I don’t understand my father.
I idolize my brother
And refuse to fall for a stranger.

Where will I go now?
Maybe to the mountains.
The fear creeps in again:
The mountains are too big, and I am too small.

I’ll try again.

I’ll go to the sea.
The salt will be enough.
I might catch this wave—no, that wave.
My fingers slip through it all.

I will hold your hand, maybe,
While you show me what’s yours.
I think I’m scared of being the dark,
The same dark you are afraid of.

Darling. Babe. I might call you these names.
I fear I won’t be enough for you.
I hope you’ll help.
I hope you’ll wait.

I hope you’ll have time.

She tied her hair up,
Set out on a journey,
To write something ugly.
It has to be not quite right
A little loopy,
Like looking at the mirror
It has to make people squirm,
Also make them hungry,
It has to be ugly.
It can't have deep meaning!
Maybe it can be about the boy,
The same one who couldn’t spell.
It shouldn’t rhyme!
It shouldn’t make sense really!
It has to be something ugly.
The gods spoke to her,
They said, ugly is good
Relatable, lost in the crowd
But seen by a few.
Those few beady eyes mean nothing,
For a girl who can't see through the mirror
It has to be ugly.
Like the time her mother told her so
Remind people of overflowing bins
The abstract art that she pretended to like
The cesspool of love that she floats in
Try harder now,
This isn’t hitting the spot
It has to be ugly.

You are still alive in me
The way your eyes would find me in the crowd,
How you would smile looking at me,
I was the prize.
You are still alive in me
The short walks, the long walks,
The sunsets, the fireworks,
I was the luckiest.
You are still alive in me
Your hands always trying to reach mine,
Every time the coffee slipped off mine,
I was the silliest.
You are still alive in me
In the long shadows,
In the dialogues of that action movie,
I was dramatic.
You are still alive in me
I’ll imagine her hands,
I’ll imagine her face,
I’ll imagine her smile,
I am defeated.

It was the books,
The same ones I read,
Over the summers,
In the libraries
That told me it was okay to wish.
So I wished,
For a **** body,
Like the ones on the posters.
I did not get that,
So I moved on.

It was probably TV,
The shows with eternal love,
Chemistry that was across lifetimes,
Romance and slow dances.
So I wished again,
For a tall funny man,
He will be my mirror I thought,
That shattered too

Why wish at all?
It is a futile thought
Like the sky you’ll never reach.

I used to think blue eyes were pretty,
his were not.
his were not cornflower, sapphire, baby, indigo, azure,
or cloudy sky blue.
His were midnight where the light pollution from the city blocks the stars.
Iceberg, squall, hypothermia, eventual death