Anywhere But Here

I am not a paradigmatic person. I am not blonde hair framing a pretty face. I am not Friday night stadium lights or a Sunday morning church sermon. I am a Monday morning, I am nails on a chalkboard, I am a zephyr through the frozen top tree branches of December, I am a midnight walk in the woods. My bones bleach in the summer sun. I fall from grace with a gunshot muffled by thin apartment walls. I make no apologies for my maverick tendencies and my awkward conversations. I don't believe I belong to humanity, that I belong to the dead, to all the leap days that never happened, to the eclipses that block the light. The ways my demons and angels have coalesced under my skin have become a maelstrom. You don't see the waves, but you taste the brine.

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