That someone will notice what feels
like invisible tattoos on your face,
your wholly holy flesh, stolen for sacrifice,
and they will want to taste your suffering too.

Those of us who make it
to the mountaintop—where there is peace
and rest—witness the gift of immortality

There are pictures in magazines that I
am still the wrong age to look at. There are
pictures of me that will never be good
enough for frames, passports, or milk cartons.

We make believe justice is possible when we’ve never seen justice because for this, for us, for sexual pieces of flesh who should know better, do better, the ones scolded to be better, there is no justice. It doesn’t exist. 

To this I remind everyone that anger can be a fiery motivator for change. From Anger came our country, from Anger came women’s rights. Anger leads us to protect and advocate for those we love, for those who have less.

We are surrounded by images of what society determines is the ideal. We scroll through images  of toned bodies and smooth skin, tidy kitchens, and coordinating pillows on expensive sectionals.  Is it any wonder I talk to myself so rudely?

Sickened when too soon signs
Do no more than pass on the regards

in my room i have
a trans flag of gatorade.
picked out hastily
at the dollar store

But no matter where I looked
I found nothing to tell me
of the life that followed
that oh-so-positive missive

We skittered all over the woods, doubling over in hysterics when we saw anyone. Their bodies appeared wavy and distorted, weird sounds escaped from their too big mouths. We’d run from them screaming in glee. We must’ve looked nuts.

After my mother’s death, I was left with a sense of emptiness. I found consolation in the family treasure trove of pictures. I loved looking at the images of my parents at the beginning of their marriage, when they were younger than I had ever known them, and their life together was a future promise.

I have yet to understand the pain within me that is so latent and so amorphous. It does not scream like the pain that caused Toews’s family members to take to the tracks. It does not lead me to the pill bottles of my own that contain more than enough chemicals to kill me, but they sit on my kitchen table.

It is ironic how the closer to death we get, / the more we appreciate the life we have.

I’d always return to the mirror / to paint inside the frame /with brushes I did not own.

I surrendered many times / and painted lullabies / across the walls / to lure myself into slumber

My volume is turned down, but the / critical voices inside I still hear, My volume is real low, some days I can hardly leave my bed.

tell her I still double knot my shoelaces for a hike. / I would ask if she has found Dad / and how long it took,

We perceive the world spatially and often recall things based on their location. The reason why you remember that the passage you’re looking for is on the bottom left-hand corner of a page is the same reason why you always know to turn right at the red house on the corner.

She was not that person, but she was trying. Smiles and laughter came more easily to her, softening her hard lines and creating fine ones around her eyes.

Your roommate thinks it’s funny to say, “I brought the Mexican!” when you guys arrive. You’ll laugh and roll your eyes, tell yourself it isn’t a big deal. Then they’ll start making “Build the Wall” cracks when you beat them at cards.