“The year of tightrope. Learning to balance on two left feet. Where the brightest moments came between the darkest days. Realizing that forgiveness starts with myself. The year that no amount of water could have put out the fire. Of realizing the power of my own hands. Where some days my own voice was the noose around my neck. The year of keeping a knife under my tongue for good measure. Of pitting cherries, spitting out sunflower seeds. Turning everything I loved into starbursts and neon lights. The year my castles crumbled and I slept in the rubble. I learned to love in the dark. I learned when to run, and what it feels like to stay. The year of parachutes. Of hope, of light, of everything golden. Of loss, of salt water, of getting lost in the tunnel. The year of blood in my mouth and on my hands. Keeping quiet but never bowing down. The year of girl, coil, snakes. The year I came wide awake. My nerves snapped back to life. The year the dead girl couldn’t win. The sky couldn’t outweigh me, and I stopped wishing for wings. The year of the collision that nearly left me shattered. The year that I grew back stronger.”
–
2016, angelea l.
(Inspired by Warsan Shire)
