"Ready for warfare?", my mind antagonizes.

"I wasn't created for battlefields", my heart insists.

Sometimes you have to work on protecting yourself more than your desire to protect others.

Ink is my testimony; I pour it out and watch it bubble then boil until it burns my fingertips.

My heart is sick with grenades.

Reading poetry doesn't just take you on journey, it brings your heart to place you never knew existed.

And how can we sleep
when we're inhaling life
five thousand shades
too deep?

Were you ever real?
I ask myself this after a night of too much vodka.
I can make myself believe anything at this point.
You existed for someone else.
You were never meant for me.

And you, like so many before you, simply want to exist. To not have your identity questioned, to not have your lived experiences dismissed.

It's time to be brave and confident. Because if I don't start now, when will I?

To all who have played hide-and-go-seek with words we wish could bubble out of our mouths like fountains that can make us young forever.