When You Ask Me Where I’m Going

by Jasmin Kaur

my skin (and everything carried on it) is the first me you will encounter unless you’re meeting my words before you’ve met my face if that’s the case, i’m excited. it means that this is one of those rare and beautiful moments when everything inside of me is going to matter more than everything outside of me.

i’m not here to be your example of the good girl until i’m your warning sign for the wayward one

why should my tongue choke on itself for my intelligence to be proven?

i will not italicize all the parts of myself that make no sense to you.

in this body i am a work of art that will face unsolicited critique a wrong answer on a test that i never agreed to take & a set of rules that have undoubtedly been broken

the next time you ask me where i’m going please recall that i am three parts indecision and one part reckless abandon

i have come to fear my lack of answers far less than humans who claim to have them all.

i am told that forgiveness alone will free me and instead i watch myself erode, rock to sand to dust, in every moment i am told to let go.

even the most carefully planted seeds cannot flourish where they were never meant to stay.

don’t love in strategically poured increments. when i love, i love hard. i leave no space for question.

but this morning, i wake up as if life herself wants me because, maybe, it’s true. this is how i remember to want myself.