Being seen is not the same thing as being chosen.

"You're only afraid of someone else's pain if you're afraid of your own."

There is this home inside the body I’m building…

It’s full of stone and blade and grass and midnight…
My anger is fortified, gold and precious-
Effervescent where my tongue slips up,
& you see the dirty bits of cyanide crushed covertly between my molars.

I am tired of holding up the moon-
My arms are bent back… live, twisted wires-
screaming for sanctuary where the slit in the sky turns yellow;
opens up to heaven and the bastion of angels…

Their tears the falling rain I lap up;
Collect in my very open good dog mouth…
Now I’ve become a stranger to me-
Missing the days when the mountain felt like a hill.

When metal beams on my back felt like fairy feathers,
The time where flying felt more plausible than falling…
I know too much to return to that place,
The weight only growing with the hours-

That child in me, the girl who simply asked to be chosen,
My left hand path appears-
At the intersection of quitting fucking feigning for permission,
or daring to play my own game.