“author’s note,” “growing through,” and “The End (of the Spool)”

life is not a test you pass or fail.

there is no A+ to earn

                     no standard to surpass

                     no reward for finishing first.

life is a book.

pick a title

bind the pages

dedicate it to your younger self who was lied to

and made to believe she wasn’t the author.

there are no predetermined plots

no characters more important than yours.

craft your own climaxes

kill off the antagonists

keep dipping your pen into the ink.

in another life

you didn’t grow up afraid,

                            grow in anxious, and

                            grow old angry

in this life

your younger self is amazed

                   that anyone would fight so hard to protect her,

your current self is overwhelmed

                    that they don’t recognize themself in the mirror

                    yet still hate what they see, and

your future self is grateful

                    that you work so hard to love them well

There’s my blossom

There I was

And for a moment

Your eyes sparkled

And for a moment

You were happy

And for a moment

I wondered if it was I who made you smile

Or the girl in the next room who you thought I was

You’ve always been so proud of your little gymnast

Always loved to watch me (win)

Always told (Natalie)

To keep it up

Grandpa, I retired last year

But you'll never know that

Never know how much it hurts when my

I love you

Isn’t met with

I love you too

Do you?

Or do you just love the girl I let you see?

The polite young lady

With an unwavering smile

And a body strong enough to spring her up in the air

But weak enough to need a man to catch her

Maybe next time…

Next time

I’ll be wearing black

And staring at ashes

I’m still deciding if I’d rather see that

Or a breaking body

On a bed your bones rarely left

Except for the time they did

And the waiting game started

It’s final round

...when I’m feeling better

You’ll be better off dead

Better off resting

Better off never getting up

Never going to the fridge

Never slipping

I knew that hug would (probably)

Be our last

But it’s still hitting me

That the flesh I squeezed so tightly

Will soon be scattered

Your departure is drawn out

Expected

Prepared for

Pre-grieved

Time of death hasn’t been called yet

But the yarn is taut

The scissors are open

And the ground is ready