If I Tell You the Truth (When You Ask Me Where I'm Going, 2)

by Jasmin Kaur

some stories bury themselves so deep within the flower bed of the mind that the earth trembles. throbs. when they are dug out.

in poetry i found a mirror a place where light could return to my chest

if Mom had prepared me for anything, it was holding it together before an audience.

The word no was an art form foreign to me. I mean, I’d always loved the idea of saying no, but nothing made my skin crawl like the thought of disappointing people.

This was the real me: the girl who pressed all her desires flat to avoid causing a stir.

to be alone when you have at the very least yourself but i didn’t. but i didn’t. i’d never even spoken to that girl.

that love was a heavier anchor than the currents that tried to force us apart that humans were not as weak as their weakest moments that family could gather to form a lighthouse or maybe just a flashlight when we needed them most

to tell this story was to reopen a wound and i was so tired of cleaning blood.