No one ever told me, this is a transition:
I was shedding my skin as the trees shed their leaves– I was breaking my bones so that I could still sleep under the same covers, I was aching, I was growing, I was becoming.
My hands were painted red and the beast inside of me was holding its breath;
My own voice became unrecognizable, there was no one left to tell me, to keep going.
I’ve tried to crawl out of my skin into something more comfortable, but the sky had crooked hands and they seemed to hold me better than you ever did.
I have become something bones can not hold, I have become an echo, an emblem for you to hang on your skin stained walls, of how there is always a gap of resilience beneath me– how there is always room for more.
You pulled apart my wings like a screeching cicada beneath your heels
I stood in an open field with my mouth full of emptiness; the trees stood still but I could hear them breathing
They all could see my cracked bones, my skin a puddle at my feet, your words like a stovetop burn crouching beneath my ribcage,
There is no longer a home for you inside me.
No one ever told me, this was a transition. No one ever said that my silence would become see through, that my arms would become battlefields instead of homes, that my chest would become a fire escape for everyone to feel safe inside, except me.
I am just trying to slow this shift down.
The sky is turning me inside out, his hands snapping my limbs like twigs
am fragile wildflower,
please, be gentle,
I promise I will change.
I promise I will become this lion
You are asking me to be.