When I was born I starved myself for a whole
of four months-- Whether in resignation
of my worth or as an act of defiance,
I will never know. I don’t remember
why we came to resent each other.
When I was one I was dropped from the arms of my mother
to the arms of a child
to the carpeted floor
of a photography studio.
Everyone I love has amassed skill in letting me fall;
Though they have yet
to surpass me.
When I was two I was given a sister
to whom everything I am
was devoted, to me she
was a pulsar keeping
rhythm and to her I
was nebulous; A
When I was three I mourned my great grandmother,
the core of our family. She freely gave of herself
so ardently-- She must have felt the iron, building up
heavy on her heart. I hate that I cannot remember.
When I was four I sat
in the far corners of bars
alone; Finding pictures of stars
and summerland in the kaleidoscopes
of neon reflecting in raindrops.
When I was five I dreamed
of sisters trapped and drowning.
I fought for her as she disparaged
me my inability to fight for myself;
Crying as she killed me to save her.
When I was six I thrashed
with every ounce of strength my body
possessed-- Learned helplessness
as something within
and let come what may.
When I was seven I drew secrets
with paper towns because regardless
of how colour blind they are I will never
live in monochrome. Sometimes I still trace the
country lines of their cultivated ignorance.