I want to tell myself that it makes more sense than it does:

A change in motion falling from lips like shifting oxygen

inside of lungs that have finally stopped growing my voice

is a splintering collection of fading histories and triumphs

of subtlety wrapped around something brittle

It’s the way I sit taller in classes and use my voice to unravel

the ideas that I have let sit tightly up in my head for so long

this confidence is a place of softness, an acceptance of myself

not only as a person but as a voice

I am the space, the growth of a thousand conversations

converging into storms that become my name I am finally taking

care of myself and seeing the world for what it is I have held

myself together with notions of horror my voice is more important

now then ever

I think of myself, I am myself, this year I have changed because I

have started asking questions I am the foundation of all changes

landscapes knows their place in me and I am soothed by the fact that

I finally know myself, that this year has taken its bite out of me

but left me to fill my skin with constellations because I am the

rush, the stability drenched in chaos that rises up to spew out of my

mouth and consume me brightly