the second day of spring
It is the second day of spring and I forgive myself.
I must be my mother’s daughter, white knuckled + tight fisted on the road to somewhere that tastes like an echo of freedom. I must be my mother’s daughter, creating chaos out of quiet. Coming back for the sucker punch.
We want so much. A click to make my heart float to the top of my glass, to collapse the welling space at the back of my throat and make room for other things.
I admit, I became myself here. grew into my beliefs some day of the week. Imagined what it would look like to be proud. Kept my handwriting neat and my love loose, ready to relearn my lack.
I fall asleep with a prayer and wake up feeling like there’s no way I could possibly be expected to know what day of the week it is. March is the part nobody told me was coming. The part that fools and blurs and blues. The b-roll.
I will reclaim my attention in slow motion. Ask you to stay in my corner when I deserve it least. Want nothing more than to give something up for you.
Honey drips across the backs of my fingers and i am struck by a temporary loss. i wasn’t prepared for this. what else did I leave behind?