Words May Never Truly Express

butterflies

there is something so nice

about having a new crush

someone new to look for

in the hallways on the way to class

someone i can tell my friends about

someone to text and to giggle over

i wish that the butterflies

could always be so uncomplicated

“When you can tell your story and it doesn’t make you cry, that’s when you know you’ve healed.”

— Unknown

not happening

i'm not going to let myself

have a new crush

not this soon

not on her

i'm not going to let myself

like a girl so painfully straight

and break my streak

of not liking girls who could never

like me

but what happens

when i catch myself thinking of her

or looking for her

or lighting up, briefly,

at her name on my phone

when she's creeping up on me

like the first sign of spring

six more weeks of winter

i can't go any more days without her

but i promised

no more girls

not right now

definitely not her

shut up, heart

Here is some ✨ i n s p i r a t i o n ✨ and ✨m o t i v a t i o n✨ for anyone stuck in a creative slump.

“Always defend your right to heal at your own pace. You are taking your time. You are allowed to take your time.”

— Unknown

feminine rage

i was 11

crying over the loss of a friend

"boys and girls are just different" my mom told me

was it helpful or trivializing

i'm still not sure

i was 12

they told us something like 1 in 4 girls are assaulted

we looked around the room

wondering who it might be

terrified of the answer

they told us what the men are looking for

our eyes turned on ourselves

we didn't want to make ourselves more of a target

i was 13

during a self-defense class at church

we learned how to hit, how to kick

how to pop a man's eyes out of his head

barely a teenager

and they told me to hit the dummy like i really meant it

i was 13

ruth bader ginsburg died, and i cried

i rarely cried over anything then

but i cried over her

trump was already trying to replace her that night

i was 14

sitting in the front of the car

while my brothers in the back

made a joke about sexual assault

i wanted to scream at them

but i didn't

i was 14

we were working on a story about the dress code

one of the girls mentioned

that it hadn't mattered what she was wearing

my heart broke

i was 15

i watched as they stripped my right to my body

as people around me celebrated

what happened to my choice

a boy asked me to stop talking about it

for the girls in our class to stop using dark humor

as our only coping mechanism

said it made him uncomfortable

he still has all his rights

i am 16

a friend calls while she is running

just to feel safer

i have to explain to the boys in the room

that she didnt want to talk

she wanted to not be a target

i am 16

my brother says that sometimes

women are so annoying

he just wants to shoot them

i'm not sure he doesn't mean it

i am 16

"it must be his time of the month"

one boy jokes about another acting irrationally

it isn't funny

but i sit in silence anyways

i don't want to be accused of being emotional, too

i am 16

"men's lives are more challenging" he argues

he ignores every point we make

he was never going to listen

but we still try, desperately

finally our teacher shuts us down

i want to yell or cry or do anything to release the rage bottling up inside

the rage that runs through my veins

all of our veins

when they belittle us and take away our rights and make us feel weak

and we let them

because it's all they ever taught us to do

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am seven

and my reply is

pink

because i am a girl

and pink

is a princess color.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am ten

and i like

green

because a boy told me that pink

is lame and girly.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am thirteen

and i tell them

purple

it is unique and spunky

like i want to be.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am seventeen

and i just say

red

i do not say

it is bright and angry at the world

as i am

i cannot form the words to express

all of my frustrations

so i paint my lips with

rage.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am twenty

and it’s pink

i remember the joy

of being a child

i reclaim the freedom

of femininity

because i cannot remember

what my shoulders felt like

before the depression

hung from them.

i am asked about my favorite color.

i am twenty-six

and my answer is

brown

it confuses most people

they don’t see it

they may think of dirt

and dust

and dead things

but it is coffee with friends

and the chocolate chip cookies

my mom used to make.

it is my hair

and my eyes

amber and gold

in the sun

and i love myself

again

bitter without the sweet

you are the aftertaste of what

could've been a sweet memory,

and i think i’m the only one who 

still savors every sweet moment 

despite the acrid words you left me with.

~K.T.

anxiety

my mother told me i had to go to the dentist on monday

cue the instant anxiety attack

you would think

my parents

who love me

would take my anxiety seriously

"stop complaining"

"you're pitching a fit"

"i don't want to hear it"

"you have to go"

they treat me like a child

throwing a temper tantrum

i've had anxiety my whole life

and they don't care

and now im crying

i emailed my teacher to get an extension on an assignment

(all that's left to do is color)

and the email sent prematurely (just without a closing)

and now that's just making my anxiety worse

and im spiraling

spiraling

spiraling

spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling spiraling

...

maybe i should just go to bed