The cheerleader who always holds a book

And the agnostic with an avid church attendance

Someone so silent and simultaneously outspoken

And the fiery spirit which silence most benefits

Her identity, though contradictory, belongs to her

Dear Me,

You lose in the end.

In the end, you cry for 6 months and spend sleepless nights wondering why you weren’t enough.

In the end, your bedsheets become tissues for your tears and your pillow becomes a microphone.

my hair bleeds purple when i sleep

dark, violet, translucent in the way that sausage fat boiling on the pan is

before it touches a towel

in the way that a ghost’s imprint is before fingerprints are left on the kitchen counter

if I am to believe in anything,

i believe in the stars.

i believe in the glint the moon gives though a car door window.

i believe in the scattered freckles of lanterns in the sky,

eternally held in place until you