Once we went to the mini houses.

All of the doors were small.

Once we met up at the end of a trail, and there was a bridge that we sat on.

But the tiny village was better.

Tiny doors and tiny lawns.

I don't know if it was the ****.

Tiny houses, tiny problems.

One day I will open the door and be me, that lesbian.

When I was last in Trinidad,

We stayed at our aunts house on the hill.

It was bliss, it was
private.

But our next door neighbours bore a secret.

Within the windows of dancing curtains laid a girl.

A girl I never knew.

From what I heard she was very smart, and talented at chess.

She was a friend of my youngest sister.

But something happened,
the worst.

And she is now bedridden.
I never saw her.

But my youngest sister did.

I can't imagine how much that must have
hurt her.

And yet we all went swimming.

In her pool.

While she laid there,
totally unaware that we were
there.

It was our last night in Trinidad and our uncle came to visit.

We were all hyper fixated on going underwater.

That we all but ignored him.

Yet I have never met this daughter who suffers from something affecting her brain.

She may or may not be still lying there.

Or perhaps she is dead.

Sometimes I realize I am more lucky than I feel.

I'm not sad anymore,
Well maybe
sometimes I am.

I used to cry for you each night.
Wondering what had happened.

I'm not mad anymore,
my anger is through.

I don't cry anymore,
Don't waste my tears on you.

I know it's been a million years,
but for me it seems like yesterday

The tears, the moon, and the rain.

The love and then the hopeless pain.

I'm not heartbroken anymore.

I've served my time.

You were once the reason of rhythm
and reason of rhyme.

But now you're nothing but a ghost.
Or
A host of my memory.

When I was a child, I developed slower than the other girls.

I noticed this and it bothered me.

It was simple things,
like lying about when my period came.

And on my first day of high school
I wore two bras
to compensate for... something.

It wasn't until the second day of high school I realized my uniform shirt was transparent...

That was the closest I had ever been to "stuffing".

Once when I was on a school trip, I had another girl chase me trying to read the size of my bra.

I get it they're small.

I told my mother that I wanted a **** job.
I must have been like 12.

She laughed and told me to ask her again when I was 18,
and to write it down in my diary so we could both look back and share a laugh.

I mean I guess she was right.

They ballooned into 3 times their size, maybe more?
And over the past year they have been here
almost taking over.

And now I find myself in the funny position of wanting to hide them.

Not hide,
but

stow away for later.

When I am out and about I would much prefer to have a flatter figure.

My chest that is.  

Which makes a complete opposite of how I felt growing up, longing for large balloons to make me pretty.

I tried binding for my first time tonight.
But I couldn't breathe very well.
And it wasn't flat enough.

Am I a trick writer?

One of those writers who doesn't make sense.

I call myself a writer through agony,

but am I?

I try to be but I don't try hard enough.

I need to be the kind who finds sunshine and unleashes a dragon of words.

So far all I can do is check the spelling and punc

tuation.

In the theatre,

two years of knowing her.

I was in love,
I was in
love.

She was serious and so delirious,
She got good grades but couldn't tell that I was
crazy for her.

Crazy in love.

And then she started inviting me over,
house of cats and parent's leaving.
I though there may have been a reason.

It took almost five years, but we kissed. I kissed that mistress.

That untouchable soul, the guarded.

It wasn't until she sent me songs that boys sent her.

I only realized that in the future.

Dear H, See how strong your pull is?

It means nothing now.

Just sirens,
in the distance.

Its strange that people
are capable
of storing memories

about you
that you have since forgotten.

I have this one friend who tells me things about myself that I never knew.

Be it a story I told or a joke I pulled.

I was quite the jester.

It weirds me out that there are people who hold memories of me
be it fond be it
friendly.

I made an impact,
somewhere.

At some point in time.

I think he remembers so much about me because we were best friends once.

I feel like I have betrayed a lot of people.