twoblueviolets

Growing up isn't something you enjoy

Unless you're, like,

Five,

And the world is still golden,

And you can't see

The hourglass

And the grains of sand

Falling

Falling

Author's (long) Note:

Why is it that when you have a disability, that's all people see?

Kids my age:

I write in pen

to get comfortable with my mistakes

to catch all my thoughts

scatterbrained

and fleeting

pens scratch the itch to write

better than any graphite

the use of ink before pencils 

Eight AM, I wake in my father’s home with my mother in my chest.

The backyard of my childhood home held the old pine trees that had whispered melodies in my ears throughout my sweet infancy. Their wise branches reached out to me with empathetic arms, holding me until I had fallen seamlessly asleep.

Every day I spend 

Afraid  

Of what you might do to me

Every word you say is like a gunshot

To the chest.