Before She Could Breathe

dear world,

before she could breathe, she had to hold her breath when her father walked into the compact apartment with a brown bag clutched tightly in his left hand that contained beer from a local store, though his smile was as warm and drunken as ever. he loved his daughter dearly, but not enough to be involved in her life.

before she could know, she had to see the dark of her closet with her elementary friend whose destiny appeared to tell her who she was before she even knew it. her heart began beating wildly as her hands and lips went to one place, her mind not seeing an error in her not knowing her attraction was so invalid and provocative. how could you guess she was only eight?

before she could achieve, she had to fail her mother with a sunken progress report. her tears dripped onto the printed papers with numbers that seemed to seal her fate. she was too young to worry about the real world, but here she was, yearning to grow up to make her mother proud. she was left alone in this young child's becoming, who were they to disappoint her? they spent that night praying for forgiveness for their stupidity, praying for undying mercy.

before she could forgive, she had to punish herself when everyone was against her. her melanin mocked her attitude, her community deeply disowning her. her light skin, her smile, her intelligence, her priorities were set high for someone with her complexion. "Stay down here." they chanted, "Don't act so white." little did they know that pushed her through a deep longing to be exactly what they told her not to be.

before she could think, she felt the burn of air rush into her skin with a blinding satisfaction. her senses stuck on autopilot as three openings became of her arm. the teacher wasn't only but a yard away, so how could they've not see it? how could no one notice how desperate she was for serenity, for peace, for acceptance? how could no one have told her that this was the first step of ruining her life? it seemed the only people who would've kept her company through her demise were the shadows she'd see at night and the audio playing in her head.

before she could smile, she would cry for relief. she could never become better, the pills couldn't cure her chaos. her sexuality sprouted from the dark closet that was burnt to ashes and that year in Autumn, she found serendipity.

before she could grow, she had to  water herself. she found beauty within herself and became artistically intact. her sadness couldn't be cured by pills; she was terribly right. she was the cure to her own misfortune. why hadn't anyone told her before that when she accepted herself, she would become truly happy? at least then she knew...

      
she finally grew.

Love, panwomantic