Poem #2

With so much time on my hands these days, I reflect a lot. A year ago, I met a young girl who was on the verge of tears every time I saw her. She suffered from intense anxiety, but made herself come to the summer camp where I worked every day for two weeks because she loved writing so much. She was, and continues to be, an inspiration.

lowercased
for little b

she only wrote fanfiction,
a trembling teacup piglet.

her voice was a quarter
on the train tracks;
when asked about herself,
she slammed the lid
on anyone brave
enough to peek
inside her Pandora’s box

and would look down horn-
rimmed frames, sea glass
eyes bottling iridescent
bulbs for another inky
night of furious scribbling,
trying to write herself
into a different world,
breaking free of Anxiety,
her midday lies of humanity.

she’d feel brave,
just for a second.

when she told me
about repentant evil,
her hands didn’t
shake, she didn’t pick
at bloody flesh craters,
she didn’t look away.

she’d meet my eyes
and mean every word.

bam

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