When I was twelve
I was long-haired
And fat
I had eczema that crawled along my skin
In the summer
And crept into my dreams At night
I was a dancer
When I turned fourteen
I felt broken but destined for balance
I believed in something
Possessed a
Righteous sense of self defense
Loud hair
And a person
Then I was seventeen,
I’d known some things
Learned around myself, kept falling and falling somewhere
But I was dancing
Fiercely holding onto movement
And proof of existence
I was alive
With no fear
Of —
Then I was twenty
Misplaced
Stagnant and somewhat hopeless
I was finding
and losing trinkets
Bones and tongues …And
Body
I am almost twenty-three
I do not dance
I seem to find in pieces
I am here
Simply here, writing on my life
In fragmented stages
Remembering the vague, abstract chunks
Of my existence
But I am here
