Fifteen years old, yes, fifteen years

And terrified as hell.


Freshman year, the bottom of the food chain

It’s dark and cold and lonely.


November, yes, it was November.

I got a hair cut… a hair cut.


Short and sweet, sweetly short

Short for a girl,


For a girl who wears button downs

Yes, button downs and dark jeans.


A girl who looks like a boy

But isn’t… no, she isn’t a boy.


A girl who likes to write

About her depression


And the depressions in her

Skin that leave reminders.


Yes, reminders…

There’s always tomorrow.


A girl who writes a story

On some pieces of lined paper


From her math binder

That was so messy.


She wrote and she drew

Yes, she drew and she wrote


Wrote about her veins,

Her blood, and her fear.


She wrote of her tales

In the dark land.


A pantry, but a closet.

A closed closet


That left her



She needed to get out

Get out, get out.


She cried and choked

And choked and cried


And cried as she

Burst through the claustrophobic


Closed closet.

She professed her love.


To a girl.

Yes, a girl, not a boy.


She looked like

A boy, but she was a girl.


She loved a girl

Somewhere… was that girl.


Maybe over the rainbow

Was that girl.


That girl that subdued

Her worst fear.


Wherever you are

You know who you are.


Over the rainbow

Yes, four years later.


Four years later

And I haven’t stopped searching.


I haven’t stopped being myself

Because I am meant to be this person.


I am meant to love her

Yes, to love her.


Four years later, again

I haven’t stopped searching


For the girl that stole my heart

And is not ready to give it back yet.


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