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

Stagnant and somewhat hopeless
I was finding
and losing trinkets
Bones and tongues …And


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

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