The Poet X

by Elizabeth Acevedo

My brother was birthed a soft whistle: quiet, barely stirring the air, a gentle sound. But I was born all the hurricane he needed to lift—and drop—those that hurt him to the ground.

what’s the point of God giving me life if I can’t live it as my own?

When I’m told to have faith in the father the son in men and men are the first ones to make me feel so small.

Just because your father’s present doesn’t mean he isn’t absent.

And even that young I learned music can become a bridge between you and a total stranger.

Sometimes the best way to love someone is to let them go.”