As a teenager I hid things under my sleeves… Secrets, regret, shame, fear… As an adult I hide things in my words. Breaking apart each syllable to try and find exactly what I need inside. Fragments slipping away under sticky note pages and ink smearing across recycled papers. Grasping for new and refreshing light, a path for the future, answers to what is wrong and right, and maybe, the strength to give birth to an unborn child even when I am terrified of what kind of mother I could be. I have never claimed to be anything… I have never been brave, beautiful, smart, or worthy of any special attention. All I can say is, as an adult, I refuse to hide behind anything but the breaks between the lines; embracing whatever words spill from my veins and onto the page and hoping that when you look back on me, I became everything I ever wanted to be.


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