Be soft. Do not let the world make you hard. Do not let the pain make you hate. Do not let the bitterness steal your sweetness. Take pride that even though the rest of the world may disagree, you still believe it to be a beautiful place.
I spent plenty of time in parking lots, frustrated like the seeds pushing from underneath them.
I didn’t know that we were all struggling together, our foreheads pressed against the backside of the asphalt.
I wrote poetry on soggy cardboard crouched down, the screams and insults of my companions would skim the part in my hairs.
I wrote love notes inside train cars while men dreamt new ways to try to kill what couldn’t be.
I swung so high and sang so loud that I couldn’t see or hear the other children making fun of me.
I tried to make myself like the casual sadness or reasonable hopelessness surrounding me.
It didn’t work.
I found sacred places in abandoned closets, in cardboard dumpsters, under benches and bus stops. I was the one that made palaces out of picnic tables.
I made mistakes out of places some people never go.
When we got to the hospital I found the chapel.
When we got to the church I found the kitchen.
When we got to the house I found the back door.
When we got to the ground I found my lips.
When we got to the museum I got escorted out for touching paintings made before my last ancestor disappears into dreams and educated guesses.
I played every song I knew on every trash can I met.
I waited for the sun to rise over mountains of concrete, glass, beer cans, water logged plywood and mold.
I drank until I could cry,
I sung myself awake,
I screamed myself across state lines.
When I tried to fight for position I found no strength in my arms but every time I needed them to defend my love or enliven my hope they were there.
And I am not the ones who made me.
And I am not the only one like me.
Posted on March 27, 2014, in adolescence, blessings, bravery, divine intervention, evidence, friends, love, luck, queer, trains, travel, true stories, trust and tagged hopeismybirthright. Bookmark the permalink. Leave a comment.