Typing the conclusion of my English essay,

in a loud, dimly lit coffee shop,

I peer over my laptop screen

and see the type of girl you only see

in pictures.

our fingers fly across black and white keys like

sparrows / rhythms of muscle memory echoing

across the table tops // inside, you are wells of blue

deeper than the Mariana Trench / clouded over

with gray brushstrokes where smears of lavender

Society’s noose fed the rope around my neck

Teaching me to hate the things I used to love about myself

Whispering that maybe I deserve to be strung up and forgotten

I see the pieces on the ground,

So broken, scattered, torn.

The pieces long forgotten,

Continents and oceans overworn.