Notes to Self

I want to be there when you explode.
There is beauty in you—-
not in the breaking down,
but in the restoration.
Call me,
and I’ll come over, lay my head near your aching bones,
nestled in the flood.
Hold me there,
because I know you can. You are so strong.
Your arms carry so much sadness in your veins,
and I know you can, darling.
You have held yourself up so well for nineteen years
and your back has not yet crumpled.
I want to be there,
not to see you fall
but to watch you build yourself back up again, brick by brick,
your stitches paved in gold.
I’ll be there to trace the faint lines in our palms
and the faded paths on our thighs
as if we were memorizing the way back home.
When you break, I will be there,
equipped with science textbooks explaining how to create
something out of nothing.
You are the moon
and this is just a phase.
I will be there as you wax and wane
through black holes. I will be there
at the Big Bang.
Don’t be afraid to explode into pieces—
you’ve always wanted to become someone new.
Galaxy Girl, this is your chance.
Let me fold myself inside your vast sky
so you will no longer be able to call yourself “empty.”
Teach yourself how to become.
Harness the fires blazing in your brain
until you begin to blink starlight.
Burn,
but do it honestly,
brightly.
Do it for me.
Do it for us.

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