Poetry Collection.

"Happy, Indeed!"

————————

And they'll ask me today how it feels to be eighteen.
I'll look up from the swingset,
plaster on the most convincing of smiles,
and say that it feels great!

I'll watch the children run by on knobby knees
with their miasma of band-aids
and infectious, lopsided grins—
the kind that crinkle the corners of their eyes.

I'll watch them play in the rain
simply because they can.
I'll feel the weightlessness as I soar suspended off the ground,
the sun filtering lazily through the swaying trees
while the kids chase bugs and play pretend.

And I'll think of how I've lived in a game
for all of this never-ending time—
a reflection rejecting imagination,
a childhood of bruises collected like stamps
upon the knobby knees
and shining eyes
of a boy trapped behind walls of glass roses
and

it's fine.
it feels great!

and they'll ask me today
how it feels to be
eighteen
and i won't be able to answer
because i cannot remember a
day
where i felt
anything
at all.

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(July 8, 2023.)

My birthday gift to myself.