Some days, I choose to wear a mask because it's easier to be on stage then off stage, where I run wild without lines or direction.

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.

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

My heart is sick with grenades.

"Ready for warfare?", my mind antagonizes.

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

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

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

I dream of sharing myself with you,
completely free - unashamed - ,
if only to feel like I can breathe,
to not choke on the heaviness of living.

This body I've been placed in
sometimes feels like I'm living in sin.
There is no immediate relief -
please give me an antidote to this grief.

The heaviness has lifted
in the hours past dusk,
and I don't know how long
it will last this time,
but I will try to hold on
to some remnant of it.